Narinder and Harvey sat at the edge of the slushy curb while Amara cooked, watching the early crowd shuffle bleary-eyed out of cafés or make their ways to the Mole station.
“My mother used to own a food cart next to Amara,” Narinder explained. “She’d cook and play music to entertain her customers. And her food was good—better than Amara’s, but I can’t let her hear me say that.”
“That sounds nice,” Harvey said, because it did. His parents still lived on Chain Street.
As they waited for their meals, Harvey wondered why Narinder had brought him here. His relationship with Amara was clearly personal, but Harvey and the musician hardly knew each other. It was the Chainer in him, Harvey knew, but he didn’t know why a stranger would ever spend time with him if not to manipulate him.
Amara brought them their food, a shrimp and noodle dish served on paper plates with a side of sliced bread. Even if it was standard New Reynes fare, it smelled good, like butter and paprika and onion, and Harvey ate it so fast he hardly stopped for breath.
Harvey was so busy using the bread to soak up the last of the sauce that he didn’t notice Narinder had pulled out his Shadow Card.
“Explain to me what this means,” Narinder told him.
Harvey did—the targets, the other players, all of it. He spoke matter-of-factly because, of course, this was why Narinder had brought him here. To gain something. And Harvey, who knew a thing or two about debts, knew that he was not Narinder’s friend—but he did owe him this.
Narinder didn’t interrupt him, his gaze fixed blankly at the casino and corner store across the street. Then, once Harvey had finished, he asked, “So who’s coming after me? Whose target am I?”
It would’ve been easy to lie—or even easier to smile.
But instead, Harvey answered, “Me.”
Rather than snapping at him, or running, or anything else that was rational, Narinder’s shoulders relaxed. “And my target?” He flashed Harvey the back of his card—the World.
“The Chancellor,” he said.
Narinder set his plate down and put his head in his hands. “Muck,” he muttered.
Harvey resisted the urge to pat his shoulder or speak words of comfort. After all, Harvey had let this happen. He’d let Bryce do this.
It was moments like these when he wasn’t so grateful for Narinder saving him. He suddenly clutched at his stomach, the butter and seafood not sitting as well as he’d thought. The good sort of exhaustion from earlier had disappeared, and he knew when he finally did make it to his bed, he likely wouldn’t sleep at all.
“Why me?” Narinder asked. “I’m not a player. I’m not a criminal. I play music and make people drinks. I don’t pull stunts. I take my life seriously, unlike...well, unlike people I used to know.”
Harvey didn’t have a good answer. Bryce and Rebecca had chosen the players—not him. “You did run into a burning building to save me,” he pointed out. “I’d call that a stunt.”
Narinder laughed bitterly. “Or a mistake.”
The cold ocean wind seemed to tear right through Harvey’s coat. He grabbed his plate and stood up. The Catacombs had been a bad idea. He’d find a hostel, but he didn’t have volts—he’d left them all at the Orphan Guild. Which meant he’d have to swindle a night with a smile, and suddenly, that seemed too high a price to pay.
Narinder grabbed Harvey’s coat sleeve, making him drop the metal fork on the sidewalk with a clatter. “Wait. I didn’t mean that. I just meant...” He sighed. “I really don’t want this. I don’t want to die. And my cousin... Muck, she must have a card, too.”
No, hehadmeant it. Just because Harvey was being honest now didn’t mean everyone was.
“Well, I’m not going to kill you, so there’s that,” Harvey told him. He grabbed Narinder’s empty plate and threw out both of them.
Narinder stood up and hovered over him. “But where is your card? Did someone take it?”
“Not exactly.”
“So you put your life in someone else’s hands, and you still don’t have anywhere to go?” Narinder asked.
It must’ve been the fatigue, because Harvey had to take a shaky breath to stop himself from crying. His misery had layers to it, and Narinder had peeled back the deepest one.
Speaking was dangerous, speaking meant potentially breaking, but Harvey knew if he shook his head, Narinder would feel obligated. “I don’t need...” His voice cracked.
“You do,” Narinder told him, waving a quick goodbye to Amara and tugging him back down into Olde Town. He sighed when he unlocked the doors of the Catacombs, like maybe he was just as tired as Harvey was. The sound of it reminded him of Bryce.
Well, it did and it didn’t.
