The alley smelled like rust and piss.
Sable pressed his back against wet brick, one hand covering his destroyed eye. Blood seeped through his fingers—warm, viscous, mixing with rain that hadn't fully stopped dripping from broken gutters overhead.
Malvric stood three paces ahead. Black suit pristine despite the mud. Hands in pockets. Posture relaxed like he was waiting for a taxi instead of standing in an alley with a wanted murderer.
"We should move," Malvric said. Not looking back. "The Blackwater will finish their sweep in approximately twelve minutes. They'll check the perimeter exits next."
Sable's jaw tightened. "How do you know that?"
"Standard protocol. I've seen it before." Malvric turned. His black eyes tracked the blood running down Sable's face. "Though usually they're hunting Torrent-borns. Not teenagers."
"I'm nineteen."
"My apologies." The smile was polite. Empty. "Teenagers and adults, then."
Bang shifted his weight. His ruined boots scraped concrete. "So like—where are we going?"
"Away from here." Malvric started walking. "Unless you'd prefer to wait for the knights."
Sable looked at Ellaya. Small. Exhausted. Clutching Second against her chest like the bird was the only solid thing in the world.
She wouldn't meet his eyes. Wouldn't look at the blood. Just stared at the ground and held on.
*She's terrified. Of me. Of this. Of everything.*
His hand found hers. She flinched but didn't pull away.
"We're leaving," Sable said.
They followed Malvric deeper into the maze of service alleys behind Prulla's defense district.
-----
The back routes were flooded ankle-deep. Black water that hadn't drained yet, probably wouldn't for days. Bodies floated in some sections—human and Torrent-born mixed together until you couldn't tell which was which without getting close.
Sable didn't get close.
Malvric navigated without hesitation. Each turn precise. Each choice immediate. Like he'd memorized the layout or walked these paths a hundred times.
"You know this area," Sable said. Not a question.
"I've been to Prulla before." Malvric stepped over a collapsed drainage pipe. "The artisan quarter has excellent blacksmiths. Custom work. Reasonable prices."
"You came here for *shopping*."
"I came here for many reasons. Shopping was one of them."
Sable's borrowed Grace hummed beneath his consciousness.
**[Truth Evasion: ACTIVE]**
**[VERDICT: TRUE]**
Malvric believed what he was saying. Which meant either he was telling the truth, or he'd learned to believe his own lies so thoroughly the Grace couldn't tell the difference.
Bang splashed through the water behind them. "So like—you were just *here* when the Rain hit?"
"No." Malvric's voice stayed pleasant. Conversational. "I was in the Dredge."
Sable stopped walking.
Ellaya bumped into his back. Second chirped—startled, annoyed.
"The Dredge," Sable repeated.
"Yes."
"You. In a custom suit. With Upper City clearance." Sable's working eye tracked Malvric's posture. The way he stood. The confidence that didn't belong in someone who'd just survived two days in hell. "You were in the *Dredge*."
"I was gambling." Malvric turned. Met Sable's gaze directly. "Is that so difficult to believe?"
**[VERDICT: TRUE]**
"Why?"
"Because Ionspire gambling is theater." Malvric's smile didn't change but something in his eyes did. Went colder. Sharper. "Rich people playing with money that doesn't matter. They bet fortunes and lose nothing because fortunes replenish. There's no weight to it."
He took a step closer.
"The Dredge has *honest* gambling. People bet their last meal. Their shelter. Sometimes their lives." His voice went quieter. "The desperation makes it real. Makes *me* feel real. Like the stakes actually matter."
Silence.
Sable processed that. The casual admission. The honesty wrapped in something fundamentally broken.
**[VERDICT: TRUE]**
*He's telling the truth. He went to the Dredge to gamble with desperate people because it made him feel something.*
*He's fucked up.*
Bang whistled low. "Dude. That's dark."
"Yes." Malvric turned back. Started walking. "But honest."
They followed.
Because what else could they do?
-----
Three blocks from the defense house, Sable pulled the spare gauze from his belt bag. His hands shook as he wrapped it around his head—covering the destroyed eye, creating a makeshift patch that immediately soaked through with blood and vitreous humor.
Ellaya watched. Small face pale. "Does it hurt?"
"Yes."
"A lot?"
"Yes."
She looked at her hands. At Second preening on her shoulder. At anything except Sable's face.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you," she whispered. "At the defense house. I didn't mean—"
"You meant it." Sable tied off the gauze. Too tight. Pain spiked through his skull. "And you were right."
"I wasn't—"
"You were." He tested the knot. Held. "I left you. That was the plan. Keep you safe, get you to the defense house, complete the objective." His jaw tightened. "But you're seven. You didn't want strategy. You wanted me to stay."
Ellaya's eyes were wet. "I thought you died."
"I know."
"I thought I was alone again."
*Like when your mother died. Like when those men tried to cut you. Like every other time adults decided your fear didn't matter as much as their plans.*
Sable knelt. Eye level with her. The movement sent fresh pain through his skull but he ignored it.
"I'm here now," he said. "And I'm getting you to your father. That's the promise. That's what matters."
"What if you leave again?"
"I won't."
"You said that before—"
"Ellaya." His voice came out harder than intended. He softened it. Tried again. "I won't leave you. Not until you're with your father. Not until you're safe." He paused. "After that, you won't need me anymore."
Her small hand found his. Squeezed.
"I'll always need you," she said.
Something in Sable's chest cracked.
He stood. Pulled her with him. "Let's go."
Malvric was waiting at the alley's end. Watching them with black eyes that revealed nothing.
"Touching," he said. Not mocking. Just—observing. "Are we ready to continue?"
"Where are we going?" Sable asked.
"Vrensura. Nearest citadel to Ionspire." Malvric gestured north. "Approximately six hours on foot. Less if we find transport."
"Six *hours*?" Bang groaned. "My boots are already dead. You want me to walk six more hours on corpse leather?"
"I want nothing. I'm simply informing you of distance." Malvric started walking. "Whether you accompany me is your choice."
Sable looked at Ellaya. At the exhaustion carved into her face. At the way she swayed slightly on her feet.
*Six hours. She can't. I barely can. My eye is—*
He touched the gauze. It was soaked through already. Warm. Wet.
*Regeneration is working. Slowly. But working.*
"We're coming," Sable said.
"Excellent." Malvric's smile was polite. Pleasant. Completely empty. "Try to keep up."
-----
They left Prulla through the northern service gate. Unmanned. Abandoned during the Rain and never re-staffed.
Beyond the walls: grey wasteland.
Not literal wasteland. Just—*grey*. The kind of industrial sprawl that existed between citadels. Maintenance roads. Abandoned factories. Housing blocks that had been evacuated three Rains ago and never reoccupied.
The sky was lighter now. Not clear. Just less oppressive. Like reality was remembering how to be normal.
Sable walked beside Ellaya. His hand in hers. His working eye scanning their surroundings automatically.
*Escape routes. Cover positions. Threat vectors.*
Old habits. Medical training mixed with four years in the Dredge. Cataloging danger had become as natural as breathing.
Bang walked ahead. Boots squelching with each step. He'd stopped complaining after the first ten minutes. Now he just trudged in silence, occasionally kicking at debris.
Second rode Sable's shoulder. The bird's small body warm against his neck. Occasionally chirping. Demanding attention.
*Still Second. Still small. Still acting like nothing happened.*
Sable reached up. Touched the bird's head gently.
Second leaned into his palm. Made a soft trill.
*Good. We're good. Everything's—*
"How did you survive?" Sable asked.
Malvric glanced back. "Survive what?"
"Rheena's culling." Sable's voice was flat. Clinical. "The Knight who died. She was systematic. Thorough. Killed everyone in that subway station." He paused. "Except you."
Malvric's expression didn't change. "She never reached my section. I was in the maintenance tunnels when the killing started. By the time I emerged, she was already engaged with—" He gestured at Sable. "—you and your impressive familiar."
**[VERDICT: TRUE]**
"So I saved you."
"Technically, yes." Malvric's smile widened. "Thank you for that. I'd be quite dead otherwise."
**[VERDICT: TRUE]**
*He's genuinely grateful. Believes I saved his life. That's—*
Bang stopped walking.
Turned around slowly.
His silver eyes found Sable. Tracked the bloodstained gauze. The way he moved—careful, efficient, always watching. The bird on his shoulder.
"Oh," Bang said. Then louder: "*Oh.*"
Sable's jaw tightened.
"The Blackwater was looking for the Sinner." Bang's grin was returning. Smaller. More genuine. "The guy who killed the Knight. The one with the blue eye and the—" He pointed at Second. "—the bird that transforms."
"Bang—"
"That's *you*." Not angry. Not scared. Just—*delighted*. "Holy shit. You killed an *Anointed*."
Malvric laughed. Genuine. Surprised. "You didn't realize?"
"I thought the eye thing was just coincidence!" Bang threw his hands up. "Like—lots of people have blue eyes, right? That's not *weird*."
"Heterochromia is quite rare, actually," Malvric said.
"Well I didn't *know* that!" Bang was grinning full force now. His shark-like teeth visible. "Man. You killed a Knight. That's so cool."
"It's not cool," Sable said.
"It's objectively very cool."
"It's going to get us killed—"
"Only if they catch us." Bang clapped his shoulder. The impact sent pain through Sable's burnt arm. "Which they won't. Because we're *smart*."
Malvric was watching this exchange with genuine amusement. "Your friend is refreshingly optimistic."
"He's simple," Sable muttered.
"Hey!" Bang pointed at him. "I prefer 'uncomplicated.'"
"That's the same thing—"
"It's a *better* word."
Ellaya giggled. Small sound. Surprised at herself for making it.
Sable looked down at her. At the way she'd relaxed slightly. The fear still there but—*less*. Like Bang's stupidity was somehow infectious.
*He's good for her. Makes her laugh. Makes this bearable.*
They kept walking.
-----
An hour in, the pain shifted.
Not lessened. *Shifted*. From screaming emergency to deep, throbbing ache that pulsed with each heartbeat.
Sable's hand moved to the gauze. Touched it. The fabric was crusty now. Blood drying. Sticking to damaged tissue underneath.
He needed to check it. Needed to see if the regeneration was working or if infection was setting in.
*Orbital socket exposed. Foreign contaminants introduced during penetration. High risk of sepsis if—*
He stopped walking. Unwrapped the gauze slowly.
The fabric peeled away. Some parts stuck—adhesion where blood had dried—and he had to pull harder. Fresh pain bloomed. He ignored it.
The gauze came free.
He blinked. Testing.
His right eye opened.
Vision returned. Blurry at first. Then sharpening. Colors resolving. Depth perception stuttering back online.
But something was wrong.
Malvric had stopped ahead. Turned back. His black eyes tracked Sable's face.
The expression shifted. Subtle. His eyebrows rose slightly. Not surprise. *Assessment*.
"You're going to get an infection with that wound," Malvric said. His voice carried the clinical detachment of someone who'd seen injuries before. "The hook penetrated deep. Introduced contaminants. Even with immediate treatment—" He gestured at the blood still seeping. "—sepsis is almost guaranteed."
Sable caught his reflection in a broken window nearby.
His eye was healed. Completely. The iris intact. The blue color returned.
But the sclera—the white part—was *red*.
Not pink. Not bloodshot in the normal way. *Red*. Like the blood vessels had burst and never quite drained. Like the bruising had set permanently under the surface.
His entire right eye looked like it was bleeding from the inside.
"Quick thinking though," Malvric continued. His tone shifted. Became almost—*impressed*. "Removing the primary identifier. The footage only captured one eye. You eliminated it. Smart. Very smart."
Sable's hand stayed at his side. Not moving toward the chain. Not defensive. Just—*present*.
He met Malvric's gaze directly.
"It won't," Sable said.
Malvric tilted his head. "Won't what?"
"Get infected."
"That's—" Malvric paused. Studied him. "The wound is severe. The damage is deep. You obviously stabbed it with something sharp. Standard medical protocol would require—"
"It won't." Sable's voice stayed flat. Final.
He watched Malvric's face. Waited for the shift. The subtle change that would indicate his Grace activating. The pupils dilating. The micro-expression that preceded compulsion.
*If he uses it—if he forces the truth—I'll know. I'll have three seconds to trigger Retrograde. Rewind this conversation. Adjust my answer.*
*But if he doesn't—*
Malvric's expression didn't change.
His pupils stayed normal. His posture relaxed. No tension. No preparation.
He just—*listened*.
"It won't," Malvric repeated. Not compelling. Just—*confirming*. "You're certain."
"Yes."
Silence stretched. Three heartbeats. Four.
Malvric's eyes narrowed slightly. Not suspicious. *Calculating*.
"That wound is bleeding heavily," he said carefully. "Most people would be concerned. But you're not."
Sable's mind raced. *He didn't use his Grace. He could have. Should have if he wanted confirmation. But he didn't.*
*Which means—what? Trust? Strategy? Testing me to see if I'll volunteer information?*
The calculation was instant. Brutal. *Efficient*.
*Option one: Tell him the truth. I have regeneration Grace from Ellaya. That explains the confidence. But it exposes her. Makes her a target. Unacceptable.*
*Option two: Lie. Say I don't have healing. That the wound is manageable. But he's smart. He'll know that doesn't track with my certainty.*
*Option three: Partial truth. Misdirection. Give him something real but misleading.*
Sable's jaw tightened. Made the choice.
"I took regeneration Grace," he said. His voice stayed clinical. Matter-of-fact. "From one of the men I killed. During the first Rain. Survival situation."
He watched Malvric's face. Waited for the Grace to activate. For the compulsion that would force correction.
*If he calls me out—my regret will trigger Retrograde. loop back. Say I'm just optimistic. Downplay the healing. Keep Ellaya safe.*
Malvric's expression didn't change.
But something in his eyes *sharpened*.
"Ah." The single syllable carried layers. Understanding. Respect. Something else harder to read. "That explains the confidence."
He turned back. Started walking.
"Smart," he said over his shoulder. "Taking Grace from kills. Most people wouldn't think to do that in the moment."
*He didn't use his Grace. He could have. The perfect moment to test if I was lying. But he didn't.*
*Why?*
Bang had been watching this exchange. His silver eyes tracking between them like watching a tennis match.
"So—" Bang's voice broke the tension. "—you're good? Eye's fine?"
"Eye's fine," Sable confirmed.
"Cool." Bang kicked a rock. "You look scary though. Like—really scary. The red eye thing is intense."
Ellaya had been quiet. Watching. Her small hand still in Sable's.
"Your eyes look different," she said quietly. "Scary different."
Bang leaned in. Studied Sable's face. "Nah. He looks *cooler*. Before you looked like a guy. Now you look like the guy who kills Anointed Knights."
"That's not a compliment—"
"It's *totally* a compliment." Bang grinned. "You got that whole—" He gestured vaguely at Sable's face. "—'I've seen some shit' look. Very intimidating."
Despite everything, Sable's mouth twitched.
Almost a smile.
Malvric glanced back. His black eyes tracked Second preening on Ellaya's shoulder.
"Your familiar is unusual," Malvric said.
Sable's hand moved to his pocket. Protective. "He's a robin."
"Yes. But robins don't typically display the level of intelligence I've observed." Malvric's voice stayed conversational. Curious. "He scouts. Communicates warnings. Times his actions with precision."
"Some animals mutate."
"True. But most mutations reduce cognitive function. Make them more aggressive. More Torrent-born." Malvric paused. "Your bird seems to have gained intelligence instead of losing it."
**[VERDICT: TRUE]**
*He's genuinely curious. Not threatening. Just—observing.*
"He's been through a lot," Sable said carefully.
"Clearly." Malvric looked away. Back at the road ahead. "Well. Whatever he is, he's keeping you alive. That's valuable."
They walked in silence for another ten minutes.
Then: "So where are you from?" Bang asked.
Malvric glanced back. "Ionspire."
"That's Upper City, right?"
"Upper Middle. The citadel sits between Middle and Upper classifications. High enough to matter. Low enough to be affordable." Malvric's smile turned sardonic. "For those who can afford 'affordable.'"
"What do you do there?" Sable asked.
"I'm independently wealthy." Said like commenting on weather. "My family invested well. I reap the benefits."
**[VERDICT: PARTIAL TRUTH]**
*Not lying. But not telling everything either. The wealth is real. The source is—complicated.*
Sable filed that away. Didn't push.
Because pushing meant revealing he could detect lies. And that was leverage he couldn't afford to lose.
-----
In the distance: movement.
Sable's working eye tracked automatically. Vehicle. Six wheels. Industrial transport. Red glow visible through the chassis—Redbattery power cells.
Heading south. Toward Prulla.
Malvric stopped walking.
"We should detour," he said quietly.
"Why?" Bang asked.
"That vehicle type is Blackwater standard. Military transport." Malvric gestured left. "We take the access road. Circle around. Avoid being seen."
Sable looked at the vehicle. At the distance. At the angle of approach.
*He's right. If they're doing patrols—checking evacuation routes—we're exposed here.*
"Left," Sable said.
They changed direction. Moved off the main road onto a smaller access path. Cracked pavement. Overgrown. Abandoned.
The vehicle passed three hundred meters south. Never slowed. Never deviated.
But Sable's heart didn't stop hammering until it was completely out of sight.
*Too close. Too fucking close.*
-----
The access road led through an old industrial park. Factories. Warehouses. Everything shut down. Evacuated. Waiting.
Between two collapsed buildings: figures.
Ten of them. Spread out. Watching the road.
Sable's hand found his chain. Drew it slowly. The metal still stained with his own blood from earlier.
"Bandits," Malvric said. Not worried. Just—*observing*.
The figures noticed them. Started moving closer. Not running. Not rushing. Just—*approaching*. With the confidence of people who'd done this before.
The lead bandit was thin. Twitching. Eyes too wide. Stim user. His hands shook when he raised them in a placating gesture.
"Hey hey hey." His voice was too fast. Words tumbling. "Just passing through, right? No problems. We're just—we're just checking. Making sure everyone's—"
"We're heading north," Sable said. His voice flat. Final. "None of your business where."
The bandit's eyes tracked their group. Counted. *Assessed*.
Two adults. One teenager. One child. One bird.
The odds calculation was visible on his face.
"That's a nice suit," another bandit said. Pointing at Malvric. "Expensive. You from Upper City?"
"Does it matter?" Malvric's tone was pleasant. Conversational.
"Means you got money." The third bandit—bigger, scarred—grinned. "Rich people always got money. Even during the Rain."
The thin leader nodded rapidly. "Yeah. Yeah. So like—maybe you could share? Help us out? We're just trying to survive here, you know? Everyone's trying to—"
"No," Sable said.
The temperature shifted.
The bandits' postures changed. Went from cautious to aggressive. Hands moving toward weapons—pipes, knives, improvised clubs.
"That wasn't a request," the scarred one said.
Bang stepped forward.
His grin was back. Full force. Manic edge returning.
"Ah *man*." He rolled his shoulders. Loosened his stance. His silver eyes tracked the group with predatory focus. "I was getting *bored*. Haven't kicked anything in like—" He looked at the sky. Calculating. "—two whole hours."
The lead bandit blinked. "What—"
"How many of you do I gotta kick before the rest run?" Bang's voice carried genuine excitement. Like he'd just been offered his favorite game. "Like—all ten? Or just the big one?"
He raised his right boot.
The sole was scorched. Smoking slightly. The leather cracked and peeling.
His grin widened. Shark-like. Hungry.
"Wanna find out?"
The bandits looked at each other.
At Bang's smile.
At the smoking boot.
At the absolute lack of fear in his posture.
The thin leader took a step back. "Wait wait wait—"
Bang's grin somehow got *wider*.
"Too late!"