***

You can tell the Long Bridge Burger is a true Kalestran establishment because it sucks.

Even when Vorokans try to make a seedy, disreputable place, they put too much money and thought into it, so they make it cool, like the Moonbreaker.

This place isn’t cool. It’s a single large, crowded hall, partitioned into sections by hanging tapestries. Everything is greasy and noisy, the drones delivering food at the tables are old and occasionally drop their burgers, and you can choose between four cheap-ass options, which all taste the same anyway.

Just like home. I hated home.

There’s a bit of relief, however, in walking between the tables and hearing my own language, and glimpsing brown skin and blond hair like mine. The subtle pressure of looking out of place, always with me in Rakavdon, subsides.

Not that the acceptance of Kalestran was anything more than skin deep. My people would have thrown me from the ship mid-flight, had I been discovered. Black Liar’s ass, I’ve seen that happen. And it’s not like I did anything, when it happened. I was eleven and terrified. But still, I said nothing.

For a moment I’m angry, furious at this people who barely tolerated my existence. They talk big about being a community, but not one adult in Eich-Kal clan could bother to be as nice to me as a spoiled, bratty Vorokan kid. And I’m suddenly aware that I could go to the Merchant, or my shitty preceptor, or the quartermaster, and make them regret it all, because I’m no longer a powerless orphan, I see the flaws running through all things, and human bodies and airships are so frail…

What the fuck? I shake myself from the disturbing fantasy of red cracks spreading across an airship’s hull. What is happening to me? Magic is… doing something bad to my brain.

Or maybe it’s worse - maybe this is who I am. I thought I was an okay person, because I had no chance to be anything else. But as soon as I get some power, it turns out I’m a vengeful bully.

I shake the thought. Right now I’m here to meet one of the few people I actually like in the clan. I’m not going to hurt anyone.

It takes me a minute to find Druvin’s table. It’s on the edge of the big room, in a section crammed with small two-people tables, mostly occupied by couples. The tapestries around us are red, emblazoned with the Twin Serpents - a symbol of love. We’re clearly in the dating section.

Druvin flashes me a big smile as she sees me, but her eyes are wary. She’s not changed much since the last time I’ve seen her - a tall, wiry girl with skin almost light enough to pass for Vorokan and striking blue eyes. She has straight blond hair, shaved on one side. There’s a tattoo - the temporary, landfaller variety, not the traditional kalestran ones - on her shaved side, it says something in the stupid tattoo script I can never get the hang of. Warrior, I think.

More significantly, I see part of a permanent tattoo on her left arm. Last time, like me, she had only the right arm done - the clan of birth, but not that of election. It’s not Eich-Kal - did she join the Travlas in the end?

“Long time no see,” she says, staring at me, as if looking for signs that I may be a fake. “You’re doing well,” she concludes, finally. It doesn’t sound like small talk, and I get what she means. I’m better dressed and better groomed than I’ve ever been - I’ve time and money for that kind of thing, now. For a moment I regret not putting on Kalestran-style makeup, with colored lipstick and nail polish. I used to find them stupid, but now that I’m used to Karesians, I’m starting to like it. And I want to look good, I realize - not because I plan to hit on Druvin, but because I want her, and everyone else, to look at me and see I’m doing great, and I don’t care if I’ll never get my left arm tattooed.

“Crime pays,” I say. “You were right on that one.”

I sit in front of her, and she pushes back a fraction. She’s tense.

“So, is it true?” She asks. She was always blunt. “You’re a… you know.”

Spending time with Korentis and Iketek, I almost forgot how much regular people fear mages.

I shrug.

“No point in denying it,” I say. “I guess the word is getting around.”

She looks pale, as if she didn’t really believe I could be a mage. It makes me feel sick, the way Druvin - a friend, and always the wild, ambitious one between us - looks at me like I had some terrible sickness. Or like I might bite.

“Did you really set Voidan’s shop on fire?” She finally asks.

“The fucker made me unload the ship to his shop and then didn’t want to pay me!” I snap. “He’s fucking lucky I set the tent on fire, and not him!”

For a moment, she looks at me, a hardness to her eyes, but then they crinkle a bit, and finally she bursts laughing.

“Oh, gods,” she says. “I’d kill to see his face. He was always an asshole. Since you were there, you should have burned Shorovna’s. He always tried to grope me.”

“Sorry, I was busy running from the lynch mob,” I say. “Will do next time.”

“Is it true that Zerkon tried to call Bounty Hunters on you?” She asks. “Honestly, that one’s on you. You’re on the run, and you trust Zerkon? He was good for getting us drugs, but that was the only good thing about him.”

“Well, you weren’t around,” I say, and it comes out a little sharper than I meant it.

“Well, you wanted to stay with the clan that hated us both,” she answers, quick and equally sharp.

She looks as surprised as I do. Looks like we hadn’t moved over from each other as easily as we thought.

“I’m happy to see you,” I say, and I realize it’s true.

She’s from a part of my life that is gone. But maybe that doesn’t mean she’s gone, too.

She takes a deep breath and looks at me, as if trying to make a decision.

“I’m happy too,” she says. “Whatever you are. And I’m happy that things are finally going well for you.”

“You aren’t doing half bad, either,” I say. The phone on the table is Lixis, a brand popular with rich idiots. Only the Merchant and his immediate family owned Lixis phones, on the caravan. Her clothes are practical - a black knee-length tunic, dark pants and boots - but they look new.

“As I told you so many times, crime pays,” she says, but she doesn’t sound happy. “Smuggling is fun, too. But the business in Rakavdon is getting ugly. I’m thinking of leaving the city for good. But I’d lose years’ worth of contacts. And some of those contacts… aren’t easy to leave behind.”

Which is exactly the reason I refused to join her in her new career. But I told you so rarely helps.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Bad how?” I ask. “Maybe I could help.”

And just what will I do if she asks me for help against some mundane smuggler gang, or the Rakavdon police? Because the scary truth is I could definitely help - by tearing her enemies apart, or by asking Iketek to make them forget about her existence, and I don’t even know which one sounds more disturbing.

But while I’m not going to turn into her hired killer, I had few friends in my life. If she asks, I’ll try to do something. Maybe the Prop Master needs a mundane smuggler and will hire her, if she needs a quick career change.

She looks at me, her eyes hard again.

“Are we here as old friends?” She asks. “Or as criminals trading favors? Because I honestly can’t tell. Fuck, I’m not sure we’re on the same side.”

Side. If she worries about sides, her problem isn’t with some rival caviar smuggler. That’s a relief, in a way.

“Your problem is with the Syndicate Cartel, isn’t it?” I ask. “Look, I don’t know how much you count me as a friend. I know I wasn’t good at keeping in touch. But I want to help you. And I’m not with the Syndicates.”

I want to believe it’s true. Even if one of my reasons to come here is to learn about our mysterious client - if she’s a smuggler, and involved with the Syndicates, she might well know something.

If she’s threatened by the Cartel, though, should I risk getting involved?

She considers my words in silence, a frown creasing her brow, then sighs and relaxes a fraction. “The Cartel is trying to take over all the criminal business in Rakavdon,” she says. “And since what passes for crime in Vorok is stuff like tube fare evasion, the only significant business is smuggling. Unsanctioned tech, some food and drugs, but most importantly Precursor relics. People pay a fuckton of money for those, even if they’re useless, I can’t believe it. Anyway… Rakavdon was supposed to be safe from the Syndicates. But they got bolder with the new Cartel. They’re pushing, and they’re pushing hard.”

She takes a deep breath.

“At first they tried to keep violence to a minimum, but you could tell they were up to something, in the last year. A whole Vorokan gang, working the Relic Trade, suddenly turned themselves in last month. On my own caravan a man working with me… you don’t know him… tried to jump off ship in the middle of the night as we were flying over Five Peaks. We could barely stop him, we had to tie him up, and when he finally came to his senses, he had no memory of what happened. Fuck, I hate them.”

“That sounds like Sacred Song,” I murmur. It horrifically matches Iketek’s stories.

“After the attack in Valanes, they dropped the subtlety,” Druvin goes on, and her eyes bore into mine. “But you know that already, right? If you’re not with them, are you with the Brigade?”

I look at her, dumbfounded. And what does that mean?

I have a vague notion that Korentis would nod and smile and learn everything about this Brigade while pretending to do her a favor. But thank the Abyss, Korentis is not here, Druvin would hate xem.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” I say. That’s more my style.

For a moment, she looks as surprised as I am, then she laughs.

“Wait, you don’t know?” She asks. “You’re a mage, for the gods’ sake, and you don’t know there’s a magical war going on?”

“It’s not like we get a special news service for mages,” I say. “I know Syndicates are fighting local gangsters. And ThauCon killed a bunch of them at the train station.”

“ThauCon,” she says, like a swear word. “As if. Yeah, maybe they cleaned up the mess. But they’re fucking useless. After Valanes, they’re wasting their time guarding the University because of some brain-dead command from HQ. Figures, gods forbid the Alliance ever makes itself useful. And if you think regular criminals can keep the Syndicates at bay, you’re a really bad mage. We have help.”

“Who?” I ask, even if I realize I might know the answer.

She thinks about it for a moment, then shrugs.

“I might as well tell you. I mean, the enemy knows it already, so who are you going to tell? It’s not like you’ll call ThauCon. It’s the Faceless Army, helping us against the Cartel,” she says. “A lot of people freaked out when they approached us. And holy fuck, they’re creepy, with the whole can’t-see-their-face thing. I had to convince the clan - well, the unofficial group that runs the smuggling business. I pointed out that without mages on our side, we were good as dead. And then I added some tearful bullshit about the fact that the Faceless formed from the survivors of the Independence War, so they were like lost siblings yadda yadda. I don’t give a fuck about that, but it got the job done.”

“The Faceless… wait, the brigade you mentioned is the Midnight Brigade?” I ask. Korentis had said Midnight Division, but Korentis can barely remember xir own name.

She nods. “So you do know something,” she says, looking a little relieved. “I was starting to think the whole mage thing was a scam you were playing, and you set Voidan’s shop on fire with a firecracker. Yes, the Midnight Brigade is the group within the Faceless that is helping us. Those people like drama way too much, if you ask me. The one who talked to me goes by Midnight Eighty, can’t they just make up a regular name?

“Anyway, there’s a small group of them in Rakavdon. I’ve met two - Eighty and Eleven, for what it’s worth. They help us fight the Syndicates. When we suspect a case of mind manipulation, they check and can break it. Most importantly, they managed to set a trap for the Teraich Family. Caught some of their mundane agents and intercepted communications - we were waiting for them at the Train Station. Then it almost went to shit anyway, the Syndicate mages were stronger than we thought. I wasn’t at the station, we left it to our Karesian allies, since a bunch of Kalestran attracts attention. But…fuck, it was a bloodbath. We fought them off, for now. But what about next time?”

My brain is spinning. The Syndicates and the Faceless Army are fighting - Iketek thought as much, in general. But she didn’t know they were fighting here. Wouldn’t the Prop Master know something like that? Can Druvin, a nineteen-year-old mundane smuggler truly know more than him? Or is he keeping information from us?

“What do they want?” I ask. “I mean, the Syndicates want to take over criminal business. It’s their thing. But enough to fight the Faceless over it? You said it yourself, there’s not much of a criminal underworld.”

“And what do you want, Daravoi no-clan?” She asks. “What’s your angle? Because I’m telling you a lot of things. And I barely know who you are, these days.”

“I barely know who I am, these days,” I laugh. “But what I want is easy. I want to understand enough to navigate this mess safely. For me and my friends.”

Her expression mollifies.

“You were always a softie,” she says. “So I believe you. I’ll share what I know. Maybe when I need help from a mage, you’ll remember it. Well, the Midnight Brigade isn’t going to share any big secrets with little old me. But I picked up something. Agent Eighty talks way too much. The Faceless wanted something that is in Rakavdon. I think it’s a relic, by the way they talk of it, but maybe it’s just my idea - those are the most valuable items to smuggle, after all.”

My heart skips a beat. A relic. “Wanted?” I ask. “No longer?”

“They found it,” she says. “I’m pretty sure of that one. A month ago, before all the mess in Valanes, they found something they were looking for. That’s what Agent Eighty originally came to Rakavdon for, I think. I’m not sure why they’re still fighting the Syndicates - they say they’re at war and would fight them anywhere, and I think it’s true, but I also think there’s something more going on. Maybe whatever it is, it can’t be moved? Or maybe the Syndicates think they’re still searching. This is all stuff I pieced together, you know. It’s not like they tell us.”

The Syndicates and the Faceless looking for something. But the Syndicates wouldn’t go through the Prop Master, right? Are we working for the Faceless Army?

What if she got it wrong, and by found it, they meant found someone who would steal it for them?

Is Korentis going to steal the prize in a war between magical factions?

“Fuck, I’m more confused than before,” I say. “But… thanks. This might help me and my friends.”

I make a pause, because when I make a commitment, I take it seriously, and I’m going to take a big one. But there’s no way around it - it’s the only decent thing to do. I have a little power now. It may be small change compared to Iketek’s, but I can deal with the Syndicates much better than any Mundane would.

It’s not a nice power, the Path of Ruin. But I can choose to use it to protect my friends, and not for the petty vengeance a part of me wants.

“I can’t make promises for my friends,” I say. “And I can’t put them at risk. But if push comes to shove… I’m your friend, too. And I’m also a Wrecker - my power destroys and kills. But that’s what one needs, sometimes. If you need help against the Syndicates, come to me.”

She looks at me, and laughs, but she seems touched.

“I’d never have guessed this one,” she says. “Little, sweet Daravoi promises to kill people for me, if I need it. And even more surprising… I actually feel better because of it. Thanks, Dara. Now let’s order some proper burgers, without legs or antennae. And you can tell me something about your life. If you can’t tell me the truth, make up some shit, and make it interesting.”