Pait’s chest was burning. She’d been running all Mother-damn night, chased by one asshole after another after another, and for the last several hours all that running had taken place in smoky air, hauling around whatever surprisingly heavy shit was in this bag.
She fell against an alley wall, wheezing, tucked herself behind two barrels, and tried desperately to catch her breath.
Pait had considered listening to the creepy lady, who’d called herself Belle, for the briefest of moments. Pait had learned long ago to trust her instincts, and her instincts told her the woman’s earnest, kind face was genuine. But her instincts also told her to never ever trust anyone rich enough to have a house near the forum. And she was supposed to just walk up to some rich fucker’s house in her filthy clothes and stolen boots, give their attendants some nonsense secret words, and not name that shady as hell? No fucking way.
The only option Pait could see was the only one she’d ever had. She could rely on herself and no one else. Life had taught her that lesson a thousand times, but for some reason her gullible ass kept believing people when they said they wanted to help. When they said they wanted nothing in return. How many times had she found a family only to have them dump her on her ass the moment they realized she wasn’t worth it?
No more.
Pait felt her lips tremble, and she cursed herself in between wheezes. “Cut that—shit out—bitch. Breathing’s—hard enough—without any sobs.”
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She looked at the stone building in front of her, the gentle pre-dawn light only hinting at the grime that covered it. This tiny bit of alley was all she had—and even that wasn’t actually hers. There was nowhere safe, not in the whole of Lushale. Pait pulled her forearm out of her cloak to examine the stinging, screaming letters forever inked on her arm. LUV.
Her lips trembled again, and fresh tears slipped from her eyes. But she couldn’t sob. Couldn’t wail and moan like she wanted to. All that would do was announce to the thousand guards she’d seen on her way here that she was here, in this alley that wasn’t hers, alone.
Alone.
An entire city, an entire continent, an entire world—and she was alone. Nothing, no one, nowhere to call her own. Nothing but a canteen on her belt and a bag over her shoulder. And stolen boots.
If she was being honest, the entire outfit was stolen. Canteen too. She had—she was—nothing.
No. She had one thing that was all her own.
Her face crumpled and her body jerked forward. It was all she could do not to cry out.
Pait looked at the letters burning on her arm. All her own. A gift from the Head of Luvatha’s City Guard himself.
She drank the last of her water, curled up into the tightest ball she could, laid her head on the surprisingly soft and warm bag she’d stolen, and cried herself to sleep.