***

“I can’t believe I was that stupid,” Daravoi says, as we rush back to my room. I feel a pang of sadness at the idea that I’m leaving it for good, even if it was small and disgusting. But it’s too close to the crime scene to come back here.

“I can,” I say, as I grab a gym bag and a bunch of not-too-dirty clothes. “I mean, I did worse last week. At least you had a good reason. Sort of.”

It’s probably childish, but I’m happy he screwed up, too. It feels like we’re even.

“You think the knife guy will die?” He asks. “I’m not sure what I did to him. I meant to disarm them, but… fuck, he was bleeding. A lot.”

“He got back up on his feet, he’ll live,” I say, “and anyway, he was trying to stab you.”

I remember vividly the flash of red light, the screams, and the sliced finger.

What the fuck are we doing?

“I don’t give a fuck about him,” Daravoi says, bitter, “but if I kill someone… you know how it works. No rehab for killers.”

I feel a lump in my throat. Mages who commit violent crimes are always sent to rehab, and guaranteed face tattoos. But rogue mages who kill are hanged, with no exception and no appeal.

“You think those gangsters will call ThauCon?” I ask, “I mean, they aren’t exactly sterling citizens themselves.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Daravoi says, grim. “ThauCon doesn’t care about regular crime. Most gangsters would cut their tongue before talking to the police, but ThauCon is different.”

“Abyss, why? I mean, ok, everyone hates mages, but everyone also hates gangs, aren’t we sort of on the same side?” I ask, as I throw my copy of the Introduction to Thaumological Manipulation into the gym bag.

“Lost Stars, you really don’t know anything,” he says. “It’s because of the Syndicates. Magical gangsters wipe the floor with mundane gangsters. So, when Syndicates root into a city, mundane gangs end up working for them, or end up dead. So, mundane criminals hate magic. And now a bunch of the Syndicates bunched together - they call it the Cartel - and I guess that made regular gangsters nervous.”

“So, should we ask this Cartel if they want us?” I ask, throwing my half-decent phone and my sleeping bag into the bag.

“No,” Daravoi says, surprisingly emphatic, “they’re the worst assholes in the universe. I’ll turn myself in and thank the hangman too, before I shake hands with the Syndicates.”

“I was kidding,” I say, which isn’t exactly a lie, I just never thought seriously about it. “Let’s go. Any idea where we can stay?”

“Today we rent a room like rich kids,” he says, “the sketchier rentals accept gray payments and don’t check ID chips.”

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I toss my lucky ring into the bag and we leave the room, still strewn with dirty clothes and half-read comics. As we walk into the tunnels, I realize Daravoi is dragging his feet.

“Are you ok?” I ask. “He didn’t stab you, right?”

“Just tired,” he says, “I used a lot of power to pull out that flashy spell. Let’s just get out of here. Wait, can we leave by a different route? The abandoned station would still have an exit , right?”

“Not that I know of, the doors are shut,” I say. “We could break the padlocks, but I think they demolished the whole surface station.”

“You picked the filthiest hiding place in the world, and it also has a single, inconvenient way out,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“I had had a two-day-long outlaw career, when I hid there,” I say.

We go back into the dark tunnel, this time using a regular flashlight. Which we should have done in the first place - how did I become so careless with magic?

I’m ready to hide us with a Lie, but there’s no police and no gang waiting for us at the Gray Hill station - I guess a few people bleeding and screaming on their way up don’t attract that much attention.

I sigh with relief as the escalator takes us to the station’s ground floor, into the bitter cold of the surface.

“Ok, another daring escape for the powerful mages,” I say. “Small-time gangs with knives cower at our feet.”

“Shut up,” Daravoi says, weary. “Let’s put some distance and stop to eat something, I’m… wait, fuck, fuck.”

He’s staring at the station’s doors, his eyes wide. I turn to look.

“Don’t look, idiot,” he hisses, but I don’t care. I’m too busy being petrified with fear.

Three people covered head to toe in black body armor are walking the station. Their black helmets are lined with silver, and a fine mesh of silver wire covers their whole armor.

One – a huge young person with brightly colored tattoos, who looks strong enough to tear me apart bare-handed - has a rifle slung on xir back, while a woman with jet-black hair carries a fucking sword at her side. Three small buzzing drones follow the last soldier.

They’d probably notice me standing with my mouth agape, except most people in the station are doing the same. People scurry away, leaving a void around the ThauCons, then turn to point and whisper as they pass.

For a moment, I worry that more agents will come and close all exits, but the Men in Silver just walk toward the escalator. They probably think we’ve run away immediately after the fight - because they incorrectly assume we’re not idiots.

“Let’s run like the Forgotten Enemy is behind us,” Daravoi whispers.

“No, let’s look at them nervously and walk out,” I say. “That’s what everyone else is doing.”

He looks like he would still prefer to run like the Abyss, but he follows me as I awkwardly shuffle to the exit, stealing glances at the ThauCon. I’d seen them sometimes, but never in combat armor.

I’m so focused on the soldiers, it takes me a moment to notice there’s a girl about my age walking by their side.

She’s wearing a green ankle-length tunic which leaves her arms bare, which is just wrong, she should literally freeze to death. But she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s talking to the ThauCon agents, but wears no badge and no uniform. She has bright green tattoos around her eyes, and one of them says warrior. Who the fuck is she?

“...told you, you worry too much,” she says, her voice loud, even if I assume they’re all talking through headsets. “The Syndicates rarely fight. And even if they do, they’ll need serious muscle to deal with three agents in full armor. Not to mention me. It’s just some rogue, maybe someone who just found out their powers.”

Of course she wears no uniform, she’s a Council mage. Abyss – what if she can sense us?

I can’t hear what the ThauCons say, their helmets muffle the sound, but I hear her answer, as they go down the escalator.

“Of course I’ll get their signature. I’m not a useless slime like Jaeleri, you know. We’ll catch them soon.”