Ren was whistling by the time he reached Lake Street.

He’d forgotten what proper shoes felt like. The way a fine silk tunic and thick wool pants just made you feel like you could conquer the world. He’d even had enough for a scarf. He’d chosen lavender, of course; Sitara’s favorite color.

A man stood in front of the door to a bathhouse, inviting in well-to-do looking pedestrians. Ren and his family had never taken to the Ardinian habit of bathing outside the home. It was strange. But, it did smell pretty good in there.

Maybe he should have saved some of the money? He’d spent half on the tunic alone.

No. He’d stretched that silver and made a good deal. It would pay off when it landed him a great new job. Impressing the love of his life was just a perk.

He paused as he came to a block that was both familiar and painfully foreign.

Half of the block was under construction. Wood was favored in the newer buildings, unlike the cut sandstone and baked bricks that made up all of the older parts of the city.

There it was. Half way down the block. Right now it was rough, unfinished, and lacked glass in the windows and paint on the siding. But this was where his family’s shop had been before the fire.

He’d never unsee that night, nor the one that followed. The first a swirl of smoke and flame, the second a well of tears waiting to spill. The city debt collectors hadn’t even waited a full day after the fire to take them. But his parents had disinherited him of both their name and their debt earlier in the day. If only his siblings had been of age too…

No, then they’d all be nameless. And he was sure that whatever the Osirus clan had them doing was better than what he’d had to do to survive on the streets. The Osirus clan, who were so generous with investments at first, who even helped them afford the medicine for his father, who now had custody over their lives until the debt was paid, who hadn’t waited a day after the fire.

Oh, how he missed them. Mother’s smile, Father’s laugh, the bickering of the twins.

But he couldn’t face them. It was his responsibility to help them. He was the eldest. Well, after Ryu disappeared he was.

His gaze traced the bones of the new building, it was bigger than before. He’d get it all back.

Ren turned away and kept walking. He didn’t want puffy eyes when he saw her.

After he cleared the block, the rest of the way was pleasant, soaking in the sun, appreciating how his pants and scarf kept out the worst of the wind. The leaves were even starting to turn.

Vendors called out to him, passersby adjusted their walking to keep from bumping him. He’d never take this for granted again.

It was amazing how courteous people were now that he was clean and well dressed. He’d even let Norn cut his hair. It had been less painful than he’d expected based on the way she looked at him.

He arrived.

The trees before the spice shop were glowing with the majesty of autumn. Green leaves fading to gold and orange.

He took a breath, plastered on his biggest smile, and pushed through the door.

Her back was turned. Glossy black hair joined the aqua silks draped across her figure in the style of the Southwest. Her family had come from the spice lands just like Garam.

He approached the counter.

“Sitara?”

“I’ll be with you in one moment, feel free to-” Her flute-like voice cut off and she spun, jaw dropping before her face resolved into a smile.

They stared at each other for an endless moment. Relief flooded him as he saw the warmth in her eyes. But there was something else underneath that. He took a step toward her and took her hand in his own.

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“Ren… I-”

The door swung open behind him, slapping against the wall from excess force.

“Hey babe! What the-”

Ren recognized the voice without turning around. Sig, son of Sig the watch captain.

A meaty hand grabbed his shoulder and tore him from Sitara.

“You trying to mess with my girl?” Sig menaced.

Ren couldn’t quite find his tongue. It seemed to have fallen down his throat.

“Oh, wait, aren’t you that kid?” He turned to one of the two meatheads who always went around with him. “Hey Raffy, isn’t this the kid whose family got repossessed?”

Raffy did his part and laughed while nodding.

Something about Sig was reminiscent of Basher. They were both big, both followed constantly by brainless piles of muscle, and both prone to solving problems with their fists.

But he wasn’t Basher. He was a kid, soft. He hadn’t killed, he hadn’t survived the maze, he’d probably never spent a night away from a bed. It helped Ren’s legs not to shake.

“Oh, yeah. Didn’t you two used to go together?” His eyes softened, almost wounded, when he glanced at Sitara. There was no gentleness when he looked back at the offending boy, backing him up to the wall and glowering down at him.

Ren looked to her. She was biting her lip and looking anywhere but at him.

Fuck.

The big boy started his villain monologue, like he’d read too many bedtime stories, but Ren didn’t hear much of it. If there was one thing he’d learned how to do, it was to escape, to run.

But he was trapped indoors with three big assholes between himself and the door.

When Sig finally concluded his speech and wound up to punch it was almost slow motion. Ren ducked to the side along the wall and something cracked as the fist collided with thick wood rather than flesh.

“Beastkin-bastard-of-a-dog-fucker!” he screamed, cradling his hand. He certainly lived up to his lineage with that curse.

Ren took the chance and kicked with all his might, not sure what damage he could do. Sig’s legs guided the blow up to where they met and soon the smaller boy was standing over him, not sure which one of them was more dazed.

Unfortunately Raffy—or it could have been the other one—wasn’t so dazed, and one punch to the eye landed Ren on the floor next to Sig. The bigger boy staggered to his feet, and Ren was dragged by the legs out onto the street.

A rib snapped under the first kick. The next was from behind, and his whole body spasmed. Then they all melted together into a storm of pain.

“Stop! Stop Sig! That’s enough.” A voice like a songbird crying out against thunder cut through the red cloud of pain.

The blows ceased.

“You know I’m with you Sig. Leave the kid alone.”

With you. The kid. The whole situation snapped together in a way it hadn’t before. She was ‘Sig’s girl’. Somehow that hurt more than the beating. The last bit of fight left him like wine leaves a broken bowl.

They left Ren there. Eventually, he got so cold it was worse than the agony of trying to move and breathe, so he pulled himself up and staggered back to Garam’s.

In spite of the pain, he took the long way. He didn’t want to pass the old shop again. Somehow, he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to get his life back after all.

Ren was still in a daze as he pushed open the door to the inn.

The damage was done. He’d spent all the money and now his new clothes were ripped and stained with blood.

He didn’t answer Garam’s questioning look as he made his way up to the attic. He couldn’t even look him in the eye.

He tore off his ripped new tunic and grimy new pants, kicked off the shoes, and threw the frayed scarf into the farthest corner of the attic. He wasn’t sure if he liked the color lavender anymore.

***

When he woke, he realized something. When you think you’ve experienced the height of your pain, you’re usually wrong.

It was much worse in the morning.

But he got to work. He stayed in the back, cleaning and scrubbing and washing and wincing every time he bent over or took a breath.

He didn’t say anything all day, and Norn and Garam seemed to respect that, though Norn did bust in a few times to remind him what he was doing wrong, or to gripe about the odd bowl or plate that he’d dropped, or to make her usual commentary about how loud and messy he was.

He ended up working the whole day, and by the time he was done the kitchen and store room and even the vacant guest rooms were as spotless as he knew how to make them. Though he was sure the sheets were tucked wrong and the dishes put away incorrectly and he’d missed the dust in some secret crack only Norn knew about.

When he finally clambered up to the attic to sleep, he found his new shoes and wool pants and even his scarf—though some of its frayed length was missing—clean and folded neatly by his bedroll. Norn.

Tomorrow would be better. He wouldn’t be so foolish and expect things to go back to normal. He now knew they never would. But he’d heal up and find a job. And he’d save his family.