Pax hadn’t survived on the street by being slow. Any action, even the wrong one, was often the difference between capture and freedom. And while Pax had never been considered strong, he was fast and agile.

And determined.

He’d rather end up a bleeding mess curled in a dark corner of the city than give up.

He had two weapons, slender forearm-lengths of scavenged earth-monster bone, that he’d etched to a midnight dullness that made them disappear from view in even the slightest bit of shadow. A smart rat avoided using knives, which drew blood and caused permanent injuries and even death; much more likely to trigger a manhunt.

His cudgels were significantly better, able to deliver a swift blow to a skull or joint to cause enough pain and distraction to get out of most situations.

Pain. Right now, he had to cause a lot of pain in the young guardsman holding Jules, or they’d all be joining Amil in lock-up tonight.

“Please,” Pax said in a defeated voice letting his shoulders slump and hands drop to his side where they were closer to his weapon hilts. “Just let Jules go, and we’ll come with you.”

Jonson’s grin widened as he straightened and let his free hand relax. He twisted the top of Jules’ shirt and shook her in front of himself like a small rag-doll. “No deal. This little rat is useful. She helped us easily trap you, all so we would leave the other littles alone. They’re too young for tomorrow, so it’s a good trade all around.”

Pax heard movement behind him as he wrapped his hands around the grips of his slim sticks strapped tightly to his legs beneath his pants.

“She’s our golden ticket to rooting out the rest of the older shirkers in your crew,” Spalder agreed from behind Pax, satisfaction evident in his voice. “By morning, I bet we’ll have the record.”

“And even some gold,” Jonson said, his grin widening as his eyes filled with greed.

Sharp regret swelled in Pax’s throat. He’d known risking their whole crew to save Amil was a bad idea.

But a reckless abandon had raged through him ever since Amil had let himself be taken to save Tomis. The hot ember of rage burning in Pax’s center flared, aimed at Jonson standing in front of him, full of confidence and swagger.

With Jules being threatened into giving up all their secrets, Pax didn’t have anything left to lose.

The sensation was freeing.

Pax’s eyes flicked to Tomis and then Jules as he twisted two fingers in the ready signal against his leg. Tomis startled and then looked down at the ground, his posture mimicking Pax’s defeated one.

“That’s it,” said Spalder behind them. “Hands behind your backs and hold still.”

Pax was proud to see Tomis bend his knees slightly and shift his feet to get a more stable stance as he moved his arms behind his back. The brief flicker of surprise and gratitude he saw in Jules’ eyes was cloaked just as quickly.

It was time.

Pax jerked his head up and to the left, letting his eyes go wide and his mouth drop open in shock and fear.

Like an idiot, Jonson’s gaze lurched to the side, looking for danger.

The three street rats exploded into action.

Spalder let out a surprised curse behind them, and Pax heard him lurching forward.

In front of Pax, Jules squirmed to the ground, both hands raised high in a move perfected by toddlers insisting their mothers put them down. Jonson’s attention jerked back to the slippery street urchin. He fought to control her, only to end up holding a ragged and completely empty tunic as Jules scrambled away into the shadows.

Off to Pax’s side, Tomis spun and darted away in the opposite direction, throwing a fistful of sand from his pocket in Spalder’s face as Pax had trained him. When the older guard jerked his hands to his face with an oath, Tomis lurched suddenly sideways and raced toward open space at the alley’s entrance.

Pax hadn’t wasted the time either. He kicked off through the detritus of the alley’s gravel surface and launched his wiry body across the intervening space straight at the young guard. At the same time, he shoved his hands into slitted openings in his pants, grabbed his leather-wrapped cudgels and whipped them free with the ease of long practice. He’d even learned to compensate for the stiffness in his left arm, keeping its motions shorter and closer to his body.

He didn’t have to beat the guard, just get past him and make it to the sewer entrance. The man’s large frame would never be able to follow him down the narrow shaft.

Too focused on losing Jules, Jonson still hadn’t seen Pax’s charge. Face twisted with anger, Jonson ripped Jules’ tunic into two pieces with a shout of frustration, looking everywhere to catch a glimpse of the young girl.

Pax’s elbows bent, the ends of his bone cudgels whipping around with a quiet whistle in the evening air. Two more steps.

Some sense of instinct made Jonson jerk around just in time, eyes widening at Pax’s figure rushing through the shadows. The young guard raised both arms into a defensive posture, hands protecting his face and elbows pulled in close to his ribs, a classic brawler’s stance.

It didn’t really matter.

Pax wasn’t aiming for his face or ribs.

With a sharp crack, Pax slammed his first cudgel into Jonson’s leading knee followed by a solid blow to his elbow with the other.

Jonson yelled in pain, his front leg buckling suddenly which caused his bulk to topple forward and down onto one knee as he tucked his injured arm instinctively against his body.

A cry followed by sounds of a scuffle rang out behind him, but Pax couldn’t spare any attention to help Tomis. Jules had broken free and now both boys needed to scatter in different directions to give them all the best chance of getting away safely.

Pax’s sticks flashed again, striking a shoulder and wrist as Pax tried to skip safely past Jonson’s bulk through the narrow space left between the man and the pile of construction debris.

Jonson growled, struggling to get to his feet. He whipped a meaty hand from his half-kneeling position with more speed than Pax had expected.

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Pax leaped up, just in time, jerking midair in an acrobatic twist to clear the man’s arm. Jonson’s hand whizzed beneath him, only for his other flailing arm to catch the trailing edge of Pax’s shoe.

It was only a small impact, but midair, it disrupted Pax’s movement, making him land with feet half-tangled as he nearly slipped.

His practiced speed and agility came to his rescue as he stabbed one cudgel into a wall to stay upright and scrabbled for purchase on the ground. His lucky earth-skin soles on his otherwise worthless shoes proved their worth once again, gaining traction and keeping him upright when lesser material would have slipped out from under him.

Thank you, brother, he thought, remembering who’d given him the shoes so long ago, telling him to save them for when he was big enough. Still on his feet and almost free, Pax bolted for the sliver of space between the brick and an old leaning gate, a triumphant grin already spreading across his face. A few more steps, and he’d disappear into the sewers.

A heavy hand clamped around his ankle with the feel of an iron chain and jerked him to a stop so abruptly it threw the rest of him forward, slamming him to the hard floor of the alley.

The pain, sudden and shocking, stabbed through his hands and knees and his breath burst from his lungs. His thoughts broke into confused pieces he struggled to clear.

But it was hardly the first time Pax had been hurt. His hard-won instincts had him kicking with his free foot as he twisted over to his back to fight his way free.

Jonson, grinning widely, pushed himself to his feet and he squeezed Pax’s ankle with his unnaturally strong grip.

Pax clenched his jaw and fought, jerking the captured leg back while simultaneously kicking forward with his free foot, aiming for Jonson’s hand.

It was like kicking a brick wall and just as ineffective.

Jonson laughed, but it was an angry laugh promising retribution.

Panic flared. Pax pulled his torso up and forward, bent almost double, and whipped his cudgels forward to slam into the hand trapping his ankle, feet still scissoring as he tried to break free.

Two solid blows hit the knuckles and back of Jonson’s hand. The young guard let out a harsh growl, but didn’t let go. Instead, he tightened his grip and gave Pax’s leg a savage jerk. The powerful motion threw Pax’s upper body backwards, his cudgels flailing. He barely managed to tuck his chin so his head wouldn’t crack back into the alley floor.

“I’ll teach you—” Jonson growled as he laced his other hand around Pax’s ankle and shook it two-handed, making his ankle bones grind against each other.

A stifled scream made it past Pax’s lips as he arched back, desperate to free himself.

“Shut him up, Jonson,” the first guard snapped. “Besides, we’re not dragging him by his foot to lockup. Switch your grip to the kid’s wrist already so we can turn these two in and earn more bounties tonight.”

Jonson gave Pax’s leg one last shake, and the pain was so intense, Pax felt his vision dim and nausea rise in his throat.

He let himself sag back, barely noticing the rocks and other trash digging into his back. He needed to save his strength. There would be another chance later. A moment of inattention was all he needed.

Moving more cautiously than before, Jonson stepped up beside him and kicked both of Pax’s cudgels free. They clanged off into the darkness, and Pax wondered if he’d ever get them back.

Still keeping hold of his ankle with one hand, Jonson reached down to grab Pax’s wrist with the other. Once he had secured a grip, he peeled his fingers away from Pax’s throbbing ankle and let his foot flop to the ground.

“Get up,” he said, jerking on Pax’s wrist and giving it a painful squeeze.

Pax bit his lip, refusing to cry out in pain as he stumbled up to his feet and tried to stand properly.

Jonson gave him another shake, but Pax ignored him and hurried to scan the front of the alley.

His heart sank. He’d heard Spalder say two of them, and saw the truth he’d feared. Tomis hadn’t escaped either.

Flat on his face, Tomis didn’t struggle as Spalder held him down with a knee and wrenched his hands together behind his back. The guard pulled leather bindings free from a pouch at his side.

When Spalder looked back over his shoulder and saw the junior guard dragging Pax closer, his expression turned impatient. “Get bindings on him already. We don’t have all night.”

The moment’s inattention was all Tomis needed. He bucked hard, and pushed both arms straight out from his side. The unexpected move broke Tomis’ hands free and made the guard’s head lurch forward only to meet the back of Tomis’ head with a painful crack that echoed through the alley.

All of Spalder’s muscles seemed to sag, and Tomis scrambled to untangle himself from the guard’s limbs so he could get to his feet. Spalder sat back from the boy, eyes out of focus as his unsteady hands reached for his face. Pax could see a dark streak of blood smeared across his mouth and lips.

“You little piece of—” Jonson roared, dropping Pax’s wrist and lunging toward Tomis. In two swift strides, he was close enough to aim a powerful kick at Tomis who still struggled to rise from his hands and knees.

For the shortest of moments, time seemed to slow, and Pax contemplated a fast spin to escape out the back of the alley. It was the smart thing to do. If he were captured, any chance of breaking Amil or Tomis free would be lost.

Jules was the smarter one.

But Pax was sick of being smart. And he knew exactly how much damage the brawler-leveled kick would do to Tomis. It’d cripple his friend, if not worse.

Decision made, Pax leaped toward Jonson’s back, jabbing punches into the man’s kidneys with a flurry of rage-fueled strikes. One after another sank into the man’s uniformed back, low and to either side of his spine.

Muscles could protect the abdomen, and ribs, but the kidneys? Not so much.

The unexpected pain and attack was enough to throw Jonson’s aim off. His kick caught Tomis along one flank instead of square under his torso where it would have broken ribs and important parts underneath.

Tomis flew back with a cry to thud into the alley wall and crumple into a limp pile.

Jonson twisted around, roaring, his beefy arms and hands swinging and reaching.

Now was the time to escape. Pax had done all he could for Tomis, and if he couldn’t outrun one clumsy guard, he deserved to be caught.

Backpedaling, Pax ducked to evade a powerful punch, feet churning as he twisted to race away.

Only to trip as something wrapped around his ankles, felling him into a tangled heap of limbs in the middle of the alley.

He jerked, trying to get up, just in time to see Jonson’s heavy boot racing toward him. With a skill he’d learned much too young, Pax curled himself into a ball, tucking his head and wrapping his hands to either side for extra protection.

The kick slammed into his shoulder and side, and Pax bit down on a scream.

“Don’t kill him,” he heard Spalder snap. “If he needs too much healing, we won’t get as much.”

“I don’t care,” Jonson growled, landing another kick into Pax’s torso that made nausea rise in his throat. “It’s worth gettin’ a smaller bounty to teach this freak a lesson.”

Another kick.

Pax stifled a groan.

“That’s enough,” Spalder snapped. “I said stop. That’s an order!”

“Yes, sir,” ground out Jonson as he lowered his leg and settled back.

“Listen,” Spalder said, sounding more conciliatory now that the junior guardsman had complied. “We both want the bounty. And I earned it. Without my bolo skill, he’d have escaped.”

The blessed break allowed Pax to suck in short careful breaths and try not to cough on the fluids filling his mouth. He was more than grateful the brute had obeyed his trainer.

“I understand,” Jonson said, still breathing heavily with a background of rage in his voice.

The gravel crunched as he stepped toward Pax again, who tensed into a tighter ball.

“Shirking fiend,” he snarled and then spat.

Pax barely noticed the warm liquid hitting the back of his hand and cheek, just glad it wasn’t another kick.

“And you might want to invest in a weapon skill like my bolo,” he heard Spalder add as his lighter footsteps moved closer. “You won’t always be near enough to rely on only your brawler skills, got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Jonson said, sounding calmer.

Pax didn’t dare uncurl from his position to see.

“And since you’re the one who laid both of them out, you have to carry them to the prison.”

Prison.

Where Amil was.

Where they’d be held and forced to go through the Awakening tomorrow if they couldn’t find a way free before then.

Nauseating pain swirled with Pax’s jumbled thoughts. His future had just changed completely.

Would he disappear like his brother? Or find himself an indentured laborer shipped off to an unknown city?

Amidst the depressing voices, a curious thought arose, a youthful one that he usually suppressed.

What class would he be, and what would a full menu look like?

At the thought, his juvenile menu began to manifest again, and Pax stopped it with a harsh mental command. Somehow, he had to escape before the morning came.

Someone grabbed him around the waist and hefted him into the air. The agony took his breath away so he couldn’t even cry out. A dark funnel pushed in from the edges of his mind, and in moments, he descended into blessed nothingness.