My whole body thrums with nervous anticipation. I’ve done this journey hundreds of times before, but today everything feels sharp and focused. The bark, rough beneath my fingers, the shadows swaying over my face, the quick, crisp engine of my breath.

  I’m halfway up the tree, legs dangling, only a metre or so away from the huge grey monolith of Mid’s wall. It’s what our wall should have been - well-constructed and impenetrable, barely any cracks in the stone, no falling down parts propped up with a bunch of rusting supports. Just idiotically-placed trees that no one bothers to patrol.

  I’ve done this before. So why can’t I bring myself to jump down? Am I scared - is that what this is?

  It doesn’t feel like fear though, not entirely. The thing gnawing at my gut is colder, heavier - more like dread. I think somewhere in my stupid brain, this wall has become the line between before and after.

  Before, Finn could just be lost. He could be waiting for me back at the Den. The thing with the Flock, the metal in my belly, that could have been some sort of sick hallucination.

  But the moment my feet touch down in Mid, it all becomes real. Finn will be gone. Tom will have betrayed us. And I’ll probably die trying to find them both.

  And god, the plan. It almost made sense back in the cramped gloom of The Old Boat, with Big Jay nodding along and Thesp banging his fist, telling me to get a grip. But out here, in the harsh daylight, any shadow of confidence I had is disintegrating. I’m supposed to get into Top, sneak into the University, find Tom, force him to tell me where Finn is, and then stage some daring rescue? It’s so ridiculous it’s almost sad.

  But what else am I going to do? That’s what it always boils down to. I’m never going to feel ready. I never do. It’s terrifying every time.

  I heave myself up, clutching onto the next branch as the surface beneath my feet lurches with the movement. Don’t think, just do, I tell myself, staring over the wall at the tall, four-story buildings of Mid.

  I grit my teeth and jump.

  The moment I drop down into Mid, I start walking, even though my knees are screaming from the impact. The back of my neck prickles; I don’t think anyone saw me, but my eyes still dart to every shadow, every blank window. This is the riskiest part - any Peacer would be well within their rights to shoot on sight.

  Only once I’ve turned the corner to the next street do I let myself relax. From here it’s a twenty minute uphill climb to the main market street, and I spend the first few minutes reacclimatising myself to being back.

  People here all move the same way - shoulders back, spines straight, wearing the kind of vapid expression of disinterest that you can afford when you’re not worried about someone lunging out of the nearest alleyway. I do a decent enough job, I think, and when more people appear on the street, no one looks twice at me. If they did, of course, they might see the loose thread poking out of my shirt seams and the worn patches at the knees of trousers - but who’s going to look closely?

  It’s a good reminder. I run my finger along the dappled ring on my thumb before reluctantly sliding it off. Klaus’s little secret has become a kind of good luck charm - it got me out of Bauman’s house, out of the rubble. Maybe it’ll get me out of here too. But it’s stupid to keep it out in the open when the Peacers might still be looking for me.

  I thread it onto the black string around my neck, where it settles against one of Finn’s mechanical keys. The metal is cool against my skin. Grounding.

  I keep walking.

  Soon enough, the faint clatter and noise of the market grows louder, and the next corner I turn, it comes into view.

  I’ll admit, begrudgingly, that it’s nice. A little too put-together, a little too clean - but nice. White stalls line the sides of the street and coloured bunting flutters overhead, strung between the wrought iron streetlights. The scent of spiced meat and dried herbs comes and goes with the crisp breeze, and vendors call out in steady, practiced voices, hawking everything from steaming hand pies to coloured medicinal vials. The crowd weaves through it all, unhurried, chatting and smiling, wicker baskets hooked over their arms like relics from another century.

  I smile too, crack my fingers. Time to get to work.

  First things first, I need money. If I want to get into Top, I need to look the part. Specifically, I need scholar’s robes - which aren’t common enough for me to be able to steal.

  The easy way of getting some cash is through a coin purse, but they’re one of the hardest things to steal: they’re bulky and jingle, and nine times out of ten people are sensible enough to keep them deep in their bags or pockets. Lifting a coin purse requires patience and concentration, two things I’m usually shit at. But that restless, thrumming energy from the warehouse is still rushing through me, and I’m determined.

  Finn’s got all the Affinity, and Tom might be clever and know a lot, but this is my thing. I know exactly where I’m going, exactly how to make myself small and unobtrusive, and exactly how far I can push before I alert the Peacers.

  To start off, I need to get a feel for the crowd. It differs by day - people usually get swept up in each other’s energy, move faster when it’s colder, or sunnier, or even just louder. I amble past a clot of people fussing with a crying baby, and pay attention to the current of walkers. Something’s drawing them to the left, and when I drift in that direction, I see a stall with a pretty red sign. It’s a new shop, selling sweetbread. There’s a discount.

  A snatch of blue further down the street catches my eye. Two Peacers stand closely together, hands resting lazily over their holsters. They look hot and uncomfortable in their stiff blue uniforms, eyes roving the crowd. I try to figure out if I’ve seen them before - crucially, if they’ve seen me before - but I don’t think I have. It’s probably fine for now, anyway. They don’t seem to be moving and they’re a good distance from the bread stall.

  I walk right the way to the end of the market, where the stalls thin out, their owners chatting in the middle of the street, and then back down again. I keep my eyes peeled for a bulging pocket, or an open bag, but no such luck.

  Bread stall it is.

  I slip into the flow of the crowd, letting it pull me back. The air is thick with the scent of food, something sweet and honeyed. My stomach twists, mouth watering. When was the last time I ate? I didn’t eat breakfast - or dinner last night, come to think of it. Or… I think about being under the rubble for an entire day and night.

  My hunger shrivels; best not to think about that.

  The queue for the bread stall is long and moving slowly, but people seem content to stand and chat as they wait. There are a load of families here, which isn’t great. Kids can be good as a distraction, but mostly they’re unpredictable and hard to keep track of, and I’d rather not have one screaming thief! at me like a boy did last month. My eyes trail over the faces, marking body language, bags, pockets. Two young women arm-in-arm… they’re not so good either, and neither is that couple who looks like they’re ignoring each other. Then I catch a flash of a grey-haired man with a walking stick at the back of the queue, craning through the bodies to see the goods on display. I pause and consider it. He’s tall - puts his pocket at a good height - well-kept beard, red suede hat. Looks wealthy.

  I fix a vapid smile on my face and move towards him. Someone else helpfully floats in place behind me, sandwiching us into the queue.

  Next: observation. I watch him for a couple of minutes as we inch forward. In that time, he pats the back pocket of his trousers twice, and looks mainly ahead, at the counter, without bothering to check his surroundings. I almost want to shake him. Why don’t these people know? He’s got to be in his sixties or seventies - how has nobody told him to pay more attention?

  I suppose in Mid they don’t need to. They have Peacers for that. I cast a quick glance up the street but the blue uniforms are still there. One of them’s eating something out of a brown paper bag now.

  The queue flows forward, and I make my move.

  Hand on his shoulder. He turns back towards me with a pleasant, surprised smile. ‘Sorry!’ I say, squeezing his shoulder as my other hand inches into his pocket. My fingertips brush velvet and I pinch, pull.

  ‘Busy today, isn’t it?’ The sound of my voice masks the clinking.

  His eyes crinkle. ’It’s the weather,‘ he tells me, ‘it’s always—‘

  ‘Oh!’ I interrupt, peering around him. ‘There she is!’ Brief, apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, excuse me.’ I turn, clenching the velvet in my fist, keeping it blocked by my body, and slip through the crowd.

  My heart’s pounding. I’m sweating now, I can feel it sliding down my neck. I don’t dare look down at my hand as I veer past children and couples and baskets, heading towards the closest alley.

  I kind of can’t believe it, actually. Maybe the ring is lucky - a coin purse in the first thirty minutes? That’s a record, even for me.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  The alleys in Mid aren’t like Under’s. They don’t smell like piss, for one, and although they’re shadowed, they’re wide and clean. I duck inside, walking further in until I’m out of view from the street. Then, finally, I unfurl my first.

  It’s a small purse. But then, it doesn’t need to be big. More likely there’s silver in here, instead of bronze, or even—

  A hand takes the collar of my shirt. One moment I’m grinning down at my takings, the next I’m shoved up against a wall. A forearm slams into my throat and a body crowds in close, bigger than me, taller than me, blocking off my view. I open my mouth to scream - stupid, if I’d stopped to think about it - but can’t physically get the air into my lungs to do so.

  Shit, I think, cold with terror as I lash out, trying to land an elbow, a knee. Shit, shit. There was another Peacer - where? Why didn’t I see them?

  ‘Would you stop wriggling,’ a voice grits out. 'Calm down!’

  The figure draws back, still keeping me pinned in place, and I finally see them properly. Sharp, silver eyes and a pale, pointed face.

  My mouth falls open. ‘You,’ I breathe.

  Klaus looks better than the last time I saw him, when he was crying blood and passed out. The swelling on his cheek has retreated to a faint purple bruise at the corner of his left eye and a thin red line through his lip where the skin’s split. His hair is shorter than I remember, no longer reaching his shoulders but cropped close to his skull, and his cheeks are stubbled.

  His eyes burn into mine, watching the realisation filter in. He's smug, I realise - that he's found me, that he's managed to surprise me like this. It does a good job of breaking through the shock.

  I get my elbow up and shove him back a few steps. ‘Jesus,’ I rasp, hands flying to my throat. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  He leans straight back in, palms hitting the wall beside my head, caging me in. I catch the barest hint of sandalwood from his clothes. This is no Mid market-goer - he's from Top, which means he's wealthy, and wealthy means dangerous. My hand creeps to my pocket.

  ‘Where,' he says with cold politeness, 'is my Edelweiss?'

  He’s cataloguing me too, eyes running over my features. I suppose he didn’t see much of me last time - all of thirty seconds before Bauman came in and I had to hide.

  My hand clenches around the knife handle. 'What the hell is that?'

  He laughs, utterly dry. 'Don't play dumb. You've taken my ring.’

  I try to keep my body language as it was, but everything in me is screaming to look down at my sternum. My shirt collar's unbuttoned. Is the ring hanging out?

  'I haven't taken anything,' I say, keeping eye contact.

  His jaw grows tenser. 'Do I really need to make you tell me?'

  My breath quickens. It's not that I'm intimidated - if he's from Top then I'm fairly sure he has no experience in a fight - I’m just not used to someone in my personal space like this. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest, his body heat. It’s throwing me off.

  I need him distracted, just for a few seconds. I grit my teeth and drive my knee up between us.

  Klaus doubles over with a groan and I slip out from between him and the wall, fingers scrabbling at my neck, pushing the ring inside - it was out - and doing up another button whilst I'm at it.

  'No thanks,' I say, turn, and walk briskly towards the street. My heart's pounding.

  There's movement behind me, and I make the stupid mistake of looking back.

  Klaus is tall, and his reach is long. He gets hold of my shoulder, and drags me back down into the alley. The next time he slams me up against the wall, it’s harder.

  ‘What was that for?’ he spits, red-faced and furious. He’s learnt, keeping my body pinned in place with his, so I can’t even get a knee up.

  Desperation overtakes me. 'Get! Off!' I grunt, trying to break his hold.

  ‘Give me my ring, and I will.’

  I meet his eyes, close enough to see the brown freckles in the iris. 'I don't have your stupid ring!’ I tell him. I’m almost beginning to believe my own lie.

  ‘Yes, you do.’ His fingers tighten on my shoulders.

  'Ow!' I cry. Loudly. ‘That hurts, you asshole!’

  With a snarl of frustration, he rips himself away, still making sure to block off my exit to the street. ‘Would you shut up,’ he says. ‘Or are you trying to bring the Peacers here?’

  Panting, I glare at him.

  He sighs. ‘You don’t have to make this difficult. It’s actually very simple. You’ve taken something that doesn’t belong to you. Now you need to give it back, or a lot of people are going to get hurt.’

  ‘What?’

  His mouth thins. ‘It’s not a normal ring. It's dangerous. It could kill you. It could kill a lot of people.'

  ‘Great,’ I say, straightening my shirt with jerky movements. ‘But I don’t have it. And this is some thanks for saving your life. Or have you already forgotten about that? Because if it wasn’t for me, you would still be dribbling blood in Bauman's creepy room!' By the end of it, I’m half-shouting.

  ’Thank you,’ Klaus grits out after a pause. ‘But you didn’t do that for me. You did that for the biomech - which I notice wasn’t in the room when I woke up.’

  ‘I unlocked your manacles.’ I scowl, taking a step towards him. ‘I didn’t have to do that.’

  He has the nerve to roll his eyes. ‘Because you… you…’ He shuts his eyes, drags a hand through his hair only to realise it’s gone, and lets his arm drop. ’You know what? I don’t have time for this.’ When he looks at me again, his gaze is sharp, unreadable.

  Not that unreadable.

  ‘If you touch me again, I’ll scream,’ I say immediately. I look back behind me, at the other end of the alley, swallowed up by shadow. There's nothing stopping me from running down there, away from the street, only I don't know if it's a dead end.

  He give me a long, considering look. ‘No, you won’t. You’re not supposed to be here either.’

  ‘But I know how to leave. If the Peacers come, I can run back to Mid. You can’t. You’ll just get dragged to Bauman.’

  Klaus's teeth flash in the gloom as he smiles. ‘You really don’t have a shred of integrity, do you?’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ I bite back.

  We’re at a stand-off. A few seconds pass, with both of us glaring at each other. I resist the urge to check the necklace again. If he could see it, he would have said something.

  ‘Maybe Bauman took it,’ I say eventually.

  Klaus laughs, although it's utterly dry and humourless. ‘We would have noticed the bodies by now.’

  Bodies? That reminds me of what he said in the house. Something about magic and something about genocide… Just what the fuck have those scientists been making in Top?

  I pause, my breath hitching. Scientists. Klaus is a scientist.

  I don't spend much time thinking it through. I'm making it up as I go now - but usually that works pretty well.

  'Fine,' I say suddenly. ’I’ve got it. But it's hidden.'

  Klaus expression turns venomous and he takes a step towards me. ‘Where?’

  ‘In Under.’

  He blinks. Then stares. ‘In Under,’ he repeats, flatly. ‘You left it in Under.’

  I frown. ‘What's wrong with that?’

  ‘It’s not exactly known for its safety, is it?’ His voice is climbing louder again. ‘It’s crawling with gangs, and thieves, and- fuck.' He tries to grip his hair again, his voice turning amazed. 'You're an idiot, aren't you? I let an idiot take-'

  My mouth drops open. ‘I’m from Under, you prick.’

  He pulls himself together, sneering down at me. ‘So go there and get it back.’

  ‘Fine, I will! But I want a favour first.’

  He doesn’t look particularly impressed.

  I wet my lips. ‘I... I want your help to get into the University.’

  A long, tense silence follows.

  ‘Excuse me?’ he says slowly.

  ‘I said, I want you to help me get into the University. There’s someone there I need to find.’

  He starts to grin; it makes him look a little unhinged. ‘Are you quite mad?’

  I throw up my hands. Why is he so impossible to communicate with? 'Fine,' I say, stepping around him, 'either help me and get your ring back - or don’t. Up to you.’ I make my way towards the daylight of the street, ears pricked for the sound of footsteps behind me.

  Sure enough, he tries to grab hold of me again. I slither away, picking up my pace. I'm only a few steps away from the market now. 'I’d be careful about all the manhandling,’ I say, loud on purpose. ‘We’re in public. People don’t do that kind of thing in public here.’

  In response, Klaus says a word that I wasn't sure Topsiders even knew.

  The market's still in full, buzzing swing. Nothing’s changed: the Peacers are still at their station, the crowd’s still talking and laughing, there’s still a queue for the bread shop. I look for a red hat, wondering if the old man’s noticed yet, and then come to a halt.

  The coin purse.

  I sigh, closing my eyes. Then turn on my heel, only to almost walk straight into Klaus.

  ‘What now?’ he scowls as I stumble back.

  ‘The purse,’ I grit out as I jog back into the alley. He follows, blocking the light, but it’s fine. The sad little pile of purple velvet is only a few steps away. I pick it up, dust it off, and loosen the strings to take a quick peek inside. Five coins - not bad. Not great, but not bad. I could do with more though, if I’m going to buy the robes Thesp was talking about.

  Klaus voice echoes from the street. ‘What are you doing?’

  I straighten and tuck it into the pouch around my waist. ‘Nothing,’

  He only frowns harder. ‘You stole that, didn’t you?’

  ‘No.’

  He scoffs. ‘Unbelievable.’

  ‘Oh, get off your high horse,’ I tell him, making sure to shove past him as I rejoin the stream of people. ‘Are you going to help me, or not?’

  He follows, tight on my tail. ‘You do realise that the University is the last place I should be going? Bauman's got spies out looking for me - and you, at this point. They'll kill us in minutes. And then I'll be dead, he'll take the ring, and you won’t even know what you’ve done. You probably think it’s just a nice little trinket for your jewellery box, not something that has the potential to—‘

  I yank his arm. ‘Stop walking like that!’

  He yanks it back. ‘Like what?’

  I stare at him. He’s hunched over, like a weirdo, and he keeps swivelling around, eyes darting all over the place. ‘Like that—’ I gesture. ‘Like… like you’re constipated. It’s off-putting.’

  ‘I’m obviously trying to avoid the Peacers,’ he snaps. Red creeps up his neck.

  ‘Not like that, you’re not. If anything it’s like you’re trying to get noticed. Walk normally.’

  Klaus shoots me a murderous look but straightens up. I am frustrated to realise that, standing properly, my head doesn’t even come up to his shoulder. He’s tall - tall enough to stick out of the crowd. I open my mouth to tell him to do something - to duck, or just bend his knees a bit - then shut it again. There’s no point. At least if we do get caught, they’ll probably go after him first.

  ‘How did you get out then? When I left you?’ I ask, observing the people passing us. I don’t actually know what to do now. I should probably get another purse but there’s no way in hell that’ll work with him sticking next to me. Maybe I can leave him somewhere - like a kid’s creche for tall, sarcastic assholes.

  A brief hesitation. ‘I stole a car.’

  I look up at him.

  ‘I’m a scientist,’ he says, without a shred of humility. ‘A bit of rewiring is easy’

  ‘Right,’ I say, eyebrows raised. That’s not the part I’m questioning. ‘You stole a car and what, you just drove it out?’

  ‘People had started to arrive for the event. The staff were distracted and they were too busy checking names at the gate to stop the staff car. So yes, I just drove it out.’

  ‘What about the wall? They just let you through into Mid?’

  For some reason, Klaus snorts. ‘You really have no idea who I am, do you?’

  ‘A convict?’ I suggest.

  His shoulders stiffen. ‘I’m a Laufey,' he says, like I'm supposed to know what that is.

  ‘That's nice,' I tell him. 'So they just let you through?’

  He looks at me for a beat, then rolls his eyes. '‘I forget, you’re from Under, aren’t you? You probably don't know anything about it. We're one of the four great families - so of course I have people who remain loyal to me. They were happy enough to find me a badge, some money—’

  ‘Is that why you’re on the run, then?’ I interrupt. 'Like a convict?'

  ‘You—’

  In the sky above us, a gun goes off. Or at least that’s what it sounds like - a violent, sudden thump of noise, loud enough that a few shocked screams ring out, and the crowd freezes.

  My head whips upwards as something begins to grow in the sky. A consolidated cloud of green chalk, slowly falling towards the earth, far out to the west.

  ’What the fuck,’ slips out of my mouth. ‘It’s daylight, they’re not supposed to be…’

  But they are. Green flare means Katerakts sighted.

  At one in the afternoon.