"Here," he whispered.
He pushed open another grate, and cool night air rushed in.
I'd never been so grateful for fresh air in my life.
We emerged into an alley—narrow and dark, with walls made of stacked shipping containers and corrugated metal. The ground was dirt and gravel, and somewhere in the distance, I heard voices. Fighting. The sounds of Fange City at night.
"Take this,” Roone handed me a small pack he pulled out from behind a stack of crates.
I opened it, a surprised gasp escaping my lips as I saw the contents. Clothes. Nothing fancy, just a simple tunic and pants in soft worn fabric, but light years better than the harem costume I wore.
"Ahrick said you would appreciate a change of clothes," Roone commented, turning his back as I ducked behind a large piece of scrap metal to change.
"Thank you," I told him, but my mind was somewhere else. On Ahrick. On the fact that in all the chaos surrounding us, he'd thought to see to my comfort. If I didn't love him already, this would tip me over the edge.
The clothes fit reasonably well—loose enough to move in, dark enough to blend with shadows. I stuffed the ridiculous dress into the pack, not wanting to leave evidence of our route.
"Stay close," Roone said when I emerged. "Stay quiet. Follow exactly where I step. The guard shift changes in eighteen minutes. We have a window, but it's narrow."
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.
"First section is easy," he continued, his voice barely audible. "Abandoned market, no patrols. But after that, we cross through the residential quarter. Three guard posts—one at the north entrance, two mobile patrols that circle every seven minutes. We time it right, we slip through. We time it wrong..." He didn't finish the sentence.
We moved through the alley like ghosts. Roone led me through a maze of passages—some so narrow I had to turn sideways to fit through, others opening into small courtyards where firelight flickered creating the shadows in which we moved. He navigated with absolute confidence, never hesitating, never second-guessing.
"How do you know all this?" I whispered.
"Been here fifteen years," he said simply. "You learn the patterns or you die."
We passed through what looked like an abandoned market—stalls collapsed and rotting, debris scattered across the ground. Roone moved faster here, his small form darting between obstacles with practiced ease. I followed as best I could, my longer legs less suited to the terrain but managing to keep pace.
Then he stopped abruptly, one hand shooting up in a signal I understood instinctively: freeze.
I pressed myself against a stack of crates, my heart racing so loud I was certain it would give us away.
Voices. Getting closer.
Two guards emerged from a side passage, their heavy boots crunching on gravel. They were talking—something about a fight in the lower levels, someone who'd tried to steal food and gotten their hand chopped off for it. Casual. Bored. Just another night in Fange City.
They passed within three meters of where I stood.
I didn't breathe. Didn't move. Didn't even blink.
Roone was completely still beside me, his dark fur blending perfectly with the shadows.
The guards kept walking, their voices fading into the distance.
Roone waited a full thirty seconds before moving again. "That was the north post guard," he whispered. "Off schedule. Someone must have called them away from their position."
"Is that good or bad?"
"Good for us. Means the entrance is clear. But we need to move now, before they return."
We crossed through the residential quarter at a near-run. Buildings leaned at dangerous angles here, held up by nothing but hope and rust. Laundry hung between structures like tattered flags. Somewhere above us, I heard a baby crying.
People lived here. Actual people, trying to survive in this hellhole.
The thought made my chest ache.
