Vesper had seen people die before, but never so slowly. Withering away in the next cell over, the coughs and violent shivering growing fainter by the hour. Not growing fainter in a good way, either. Not the sickness leaving her. Rather, fading as its host ran out of life to steal. A flower shriveling up and turning brown.

She'd tried calling for the guards, but they hadn't given a shit. She hadn't thought they would, but it'd been all the control she had. Better to do something than nothing; that had always been Vesper's motto. No matter how pointless. Nothing drove her crazier than sitting still. Even when that might be for the best.

Perched on the barred window ledge, one leg hugged to her chest, the other dangling while it tapped away with anxious energy, Vesper sat and watched the woman die.

She didn't look like the kind of person who belonged in a cell. Filthy enough for it, she supposed. Dressed the part. But also too dainty. With those sharp, high-set cheekbones, fair unblemished skin, and more than anything, the dead giveaway, her long, glossy black hair. Hadn't ever been a common criminal with the kind of time to baby their hair like that.

Almost idly, Vesper ran her hand through her own short coarse brown tresses. No silkiness to be found. Rough and untamed. A weed, not a flower, like the one withering in front of her.

No wonder Cheekbones wasn't lasting. Not enough sunlight.

What was she doing, dying in some commoners' prison? Neglected by the guards as sickness took her? Vesper would bet her boots she was some kind of noble lady. Merchant's daughter at the worst. Weren't they exempt from these kinds of fates? Wasting away on a dirty prison floor was the kind of thing that happened to people like Vesper, not them.

Though, maybe she was reading too much into the situation. Could just be a pretty commoner. Hardly impossible.

And hell, what was Vesper doing here? That was what she should be worrying about. Her own fate was hardly looking bright. Maybe not dead in the next few hours, but next few weeks? Not impossible. Hangings were becoming more common. Crime was on the rise, and city management wanted to prove a point.

What had she been thinking? Picking pockets in Whitestone District? She'd gotten impatient. But that was no excuse. All she'd had to do was take things slow and steady. She and Flint had nearly saved up enough to turn a new page in their life.

And then she'd gone and gotten impatient. Had wanted to hurry things up. How else better than finding more lucrative marks? Sure, getting caught by a guard in Whitestone meant worse punishment—and she was way more likely to be run down by the law in general—but she'd been on a winning streak.

Really, it was her class's fault. Well, no, it was definitely her own. But her class was a solid runner-up. It'd made her cocky. She'd always been a good thief, even before she'd become a [Thief]. With skills like [Inconspicuous] and [Dexterous], how couldn't she get a little too confident? Why not turn three weeks into three days? Or less? Be on their way out by the weekend?

That'd been what she'd been thinking, at least. Vesper thumped her head back into the iron bars blocking her cell from the outside world. She stared blankly up at the ceiling. Seriously. A few more weeks of slow and steady work, and they'd have been in the clear. She couldn't have just played things safe?

She wondered what Flint was thinking right about now. He'd have learned she'd gone missing. And there were only a few things that 'going missing' meant in their kind of life.

From the cell across her, a groan filled the air, breaking Vesper's spiraling thoughts. She stiffened, then straightened out, eyes locking on the dainty form collapsed on the hard cot in the corner of her respective cell. That groan had sounded … well, awful, but also great, when Vesper had been nearly certain that the woman was about to shudder out her last breath. The pained groan, paradoxically, was full of life.

Then, even more shockingly, Cheekbones elbowed herself up.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Vesper hopped off the window ledge in shock. For a second, she stared, frozen in place. Vesper had been so sure she'd been dangling by a thread. Moments from dying. And now she was awake? How had that happened? Without intending to, Vesper found herself scurrying over, grabbing the bars of her cell.

At the noise, the rattling of metal, Cheekbones turned her hazy-eyed gaze to Vesper. Vesper was struck silent a second time: even pale, fevered, and probably close to death, those piercing purple eyes made her freeze.

Girls like her really didn't belong in prison.

"Hey. Hey, you're awake," Vesper said. "You good? Sit up. Don't go back to sleep."

Cheekbones obeyed, though probably not because Vesper had told her to. She finished pushing herself up by an elbow, unsteadily rising into a sitting position. She placed a hand on her forehead, groaning again as she swayed in place. Her attention swept side to side, slowly, brow furrowing as she took in her surroundings.

"W-What?" she said. "Where…where am I? What's going on?"

Even her voice sounded all regal and fancy. Clipped, enunciated. It was a funny mix, the should-be sharp words addled and made slow by her fever.

But she could talk, too? Was lucid, even? Seriously, moments ago, Vesper had thought she was on her way out, one foot in the door at best.

Where had this turn-around come from?

"Am I in a cell?" the woman asked. She scanned the small space. There were only six cells total, split by a hallway, three on each side. Vesper was in the one across from her. The woman seemed to be growing more panicked by the second. Shakily, she got to her feet—before collapsing back onto her cot. Miraculous recovery or not, she was hardly in good shape. Her eyes flicked to Vesper, then away, toward the heavy metal door leading out. "Hello? Guards? Guards!"

"Wouldn't do that, if I were you," Vesper said. "Tried it myself. Fast way to piss 'em off. And it won't do much." Vesper wrinkled her nose. "Save it for the Magistrate," she mocked.

A second passed, the woman just staring at her.

"You're in here," Vesper said. "That means you're waiting trial. Not much to do, past that."

"Who are you?" Cheekbones asked.

"Who are you?" Vesper countered. "And what's a noble lady doing in a commoner's jailhouse?"

"Noble lady?" Cheekbones asked, eyebrows raising. "I'm not a noble lady. I'm—"

She froze as if for a second, she couldn't remember.

"I'm … Morgana," she said slowly. "Morgana Lafenne. Student of the Ivory Institute. Mage of the fourth strata."

Vesper took that in. "What the hell does that mean?"

The woman blinked in surprise, Vesper's response obviously not what she'd expected. "The Institute," she repeated. "I'm a student of the Institute."

"Am I supposed to know what that is?"

Morgana stared at her.

"And you ain't no mage, either," Vesper said. "You've got no class at all. I checked."

"What? What do you mean, class?"

It was Vesper's turn to stare. "You're just a regular person. You're not a [Mage]."

Morgana didn't seem to know what Vesper was talking about—which was strange, to say the least. Who didn't know what a class was? For a while, Morgana continued to point a baffled expression at Vesper. Then her brow furrowed, and she looked around the room once again—then down at her lap, clearly getting lost in her thoughts.

"You feelin' okay?" Vesper asked. "Kinda thought you were a goner. Your head alright?" She was starting to suspect that, though Cheekbones might have woken up, not everything was in good order upstairs, so to speak.

"Where are we?" Morgana demanded, Vesper's question snapping her out of her brief contemplation.

"In jail," she replied dryly.

"What city, I mean?"

"You don't know what city you're in?"

That confirmed Vesper's suspicion. Fever must've cooked her brain. That wasn't great. Better than being dead, she supposed.

"Val'Narath, I would assume," Morgana said. "But I have the feeling something strange is going on."

"Val'Narath?"

"Capital of Themor. Host city of the Institute."

"What Institute are you talking about?"

"But you're speaking perfect Themorian!"

"I'm speaking Common, lady," Vesper said. "We're in Southold. In the Kingdom of Liren." She hesitated. "But I don't think you need to worry about that. You should drink some water and get some rest. There's food there." She gestured to the corner of her cell, where the guards had slid a tray in a while ago. Of course, it was untouched.

Morgana heeded neither of Vesper's suggestions. She simply stared at her, dumbfounded. "What is going on?" she asked. "There's no such thing as a 'Kingdom of Liren'. Geography isn't my best subject, but I'm not wholly ignorant."

"I think you'll feel better with some rest," Vesper said, choosing to have some tact. Telling her she had gone crazy didn't have much point. "Dunno how you ended up here, but it is what it is. Worry about your health." She gestured at the tray of food and cup of water.

Morgana again ignored the suggestion. She sat on her cot, staring down at her lap with a bewildered expression. Vesper could practically hear the gears turning. She was surprised steam didn't start rising out of her ears.

Vesper briefly wondered what going crazy was like.

For a while, silence reigned. Vesper studied the woman as she sat there and had some immense mental crisis inside her own head.

Until finally, she looked up, meeting Vesper's eyes.

"I can prove it," Morgana said.