The walk home is quiet. Painfully so. Rivin keeps thinking of things to say but never saying them—never trusting them.

  Roach looks too human too quickly. Too real. She’s using her hair like a shield or a curtain, whichever protects her best from his sullen, anxious eyes.

  “Roach.” He tries only once.

  She doesn’t look over. “Just a slip, Riv.”

  He’s not sure if she’s talking about the kiss or the fall, if the mistake lay with her or with him, but there’s a heavy pit in his stomach that’s growing by the mile, and he’d like to go back to the stars, go back to the moment she taught him how to shepherd them.

  But time keeps moving, and so do their feet, and the girl keeps ahead like she always does, but this time the distance feels intentional, like she’s a fox aware of the snare, and Rivin wishes he had the courage to be anything more than silent. To be anything more than himself.

  Yet, despite the void and the cold, he also knows that this is the right call. The right path. That this isn’t the life where Rivin of The Hole—more ghost than human—gets to kiss girls. There isn’t room in the world for things like that anymore.

  It collapsed alongside everything else.

  Yet as she hurries ahead, feigning — or perhaps forcing — distraction in rock formations and ruin, the ache in his chest grows wider, weighing him down. His feet shuffle where hers skip away.

  He doesn’t know how to fix this.

  She crouches, reaching for something that catches the beam of their headtorches. A hand mirror, or what’s left of one. She uses the end of her braid to brush dust from the shard, her copper eyes catching his in the reflection. Something bursts, but only for him; he holds her gaze, but he wants her to look away, needs her to look away because—

  There’s a universe in that mirror where he’s allowed to kiss girls, a world in which he’s just a boy, all lanky and growing. He’d take her dancing (learn first—perhaps he’d have a father to teach him), and they’d both smell nice when he took her hand, and she wouldn’t lead him into darkness, no, because the sun is setting and the sky is on fire and she’s cupping her fingers over her eyes but still looking straight at the horizon, smiling, because she’d always be smiling, and their kiss wouldn’t hurt because love wasn’t painful.

  Wasn’t cursed.

  The fantasy dies with the cut on her lip. The bruise on her eye. The fear he felt when she spoke of the future. The bomb.

  No, this isn’t the world where Rivin gets to kiss girls.

  So, he maintains the distance. Maintains the space, and they continue in silence.

  Drifting.

  The pressure releases once they walk through the door. Rivin has never been quite so grateful for the sound of Slink rattling off about his tech.

  “Yeah, it’ll take immense power, y’know? But quiet, tiny power. It needs to work as an accessory,” his voice trails off. “She liked to accessorise.”

  Sen sits forward. “What did you call it again?”

  The older teen grins. “The Mausquerat. It’s my magnum opus.”

  “What’s that?” Abi tilts her head, huddled besides Coel by the door.

  Slink shrugs. “I don’t know. Sounds good though.” He leans back, looking now towards the new arrivals. “Ey, you’re back. You were gone awhile.”

  Rivin makes himself comfortable by the basin, rinsing off his hands.

  “Took a walk.”

  “I see, I see. Perfect day for it.”

  Roach checks on the children closest, examining their wounds. Satisfied, she taps them each on the nose before moving onto Sen, gently assessing his wrist.

  Slink’s baby blues flit lazily towards her. “You’re back too, I see.”

  “She lives here,” Ricket defends from the back.

  Roach only flashes a toothy grin. “Disappointed?”

  Slink drops his shoulders. “Incredibly.” He perks up again. “You’ve got cool shit.”

  “Yeah, Roach. Where’d you get all this stuff?” Ricket is examining the spoon tiers with a careful eye.

  “Not that, dope.” Chip scolds. “Those are just spoons.” He passes Roach a bowl—it’s not steaming anymore, but the heat must have rushed to her eyes, glossing over amber irises. “You must be hungry.”

  She smiles, soft again, and takes it tenderly. “Famished.” She shovels a mouthful past her lips, smacking her lips together. The others watch on, curious — but the girl doesn’t falter, merely tosses back her head and groans before downing the rest in several loud gulps.

  The room is silent.

  Chip is glowing. “Y-You like it?”

  She nods, smiling through the green slicking her teeth. “Delicious!”

  “I used some of the herbs out back! Also, some jerky-looking stuff wrapped in a napkin—"

  Her smile doesn’t falter, but something in her eyes gives her away, a twitch below the bruise. “Tastes as good as anything’.”

  “I knew they were exaggerating,” Chip muses.

  “If we’re exaggerating, how come you didn’t finish yours?” Ricket teases.

  The blonde clears his throat. “Saving it for later—uh, for Roach. Here, have a refill.” He tops up her bowl, and she downs it just as easily a second time.

  “Forget about the slop; who are these guys?” Slink jolts his thumb at one of the portraits. “This lady with the ants? Sick.”

  Sen speaks up. “The man with the… teeth?” His voice is dark, almost lost. “I… recognise—”

  “The sigil?” Slink interrupts, “Yeah, definitely Halidom.”

  “I’m a creative genius,” Roach dismisses, licking the porcelain. “They’re nobody.”

  Rivin’s eyes narrow. That’s a lie. He can feel it.

  He steps towards the portraits, drums his fingers across the one in question, the one pinned with the molars of creatures whose eyes stare beyond the crayon and chalk to glare coldly into the room.

  “They look inspired,” he murmurs.

  She doesn’t bite; instead, the spoon grates the bottom of the bowl, over and over. “All art is inspired.”

  “I know those eyes.” Sen follows.

  Chip chimes in, once more filling her dish. “What about the journals? Who wrote them?”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Chip!” Ricket gasps, “You weren’t supposed to say any—”

  Rivin straightens, face twisted and appalled. “None of you should be going through her stuff!”

  Roach snorts. “You absolutely went through my stuff.”

  He stills, swallowing whatever scolding had died on his tongue. “I-I didn’t—” He stops.

  He shouldn’t lie either.

  Slink smirks. “You totally did. He totally did, guys.”

  “Guilty!” Ricket calls.

  “Guilty! Guilty!” The others echo.

  Roach seems pleased. The bowl is set aside, and finally she meets his eye. Smug and victorious and… okay again.

  He softens, warm again, sighing with over-emphasised defeat. “Guilty…” He confesses.

  Everyone cackles and hollers — Slink punches his shoulder, and Chip shakes him relentlessly. Even Abi and Coel thrust their fists from the floor. “Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!” They cheer before petering off into fistfuls of laughter.

  Roach giggles along, breathy now and beaming. “Guilty.” She confirms, eyes tender, “But forgiven.” She starts to shrug off her jacket, hanging it on the hook. “Plus, I do have cool stuff.” She takes her time unbraiding her hair. “This isn’t even the best of it.” She turns to her maps. “Just the face.”

  Slink raises a brow. “The face of…?”

  She shrugs. “Roach.”

  Slink grins. “What other faces ya got, kid?”

  The girl chuckles, drifting across the room. “Plenty.” Her fingers drag over a leather binder pressed thick with scraps. “I could show you the most important one, but it’ll change you.”

  “Change us?” Sen asks.

  She nods. “It comes with conditions, you see. Promises.”

  Rivin frowns, steps forward. “No riddles. What are you asking?”

  She palms her chest, rubbing circles over her heart. “I can lead you all out of here. Take you home, like I did for Monet.” Her eyes switch. “For Rivin.”

  “You sound so sure of yourself,” Sen mutters.

  “I know what I’m capable of,” she responds. “I know what I am.” Her gaze lingers down her body, her tattered jacket and her hands — stained and filthy. Her fingers curl and uncurl, empty, cold — latched around Rivin’s not an hour ago. She settles on a fist.

  “You can go back. You’ve got your ledger, so maybe it will be different, huh? Maybe you won’t be eating rats. You check in with The Swill, get your pat on the back and your way in. Find some other boot to lick to keep your bellies greased… Things carry on; you get a few years, hey? Maybe long enough to see your first wrinkle, first grey hair… Wow, can you imagine?”

  Rivin’s jaw tenses. “Get to the point, Roach.”

  She laughs, softly this time, not real. “Or… you come with me. Learn with me. Fight with me.”

  Slink snorts. “Against who? Against what?”

  She doesn’t miss a beat. “All of it. This nothingness. This non-existence. I can show you a world that remembers. One that teaches you how to fight — how to live. What it looks like.” Her gaze switches back to Rivin, too intense and too hot. “You don’t want to be ghosts?”

  His heart twitches— pangs— but he holds her gaze, holds it for as long as she anchors him to the floor with the heaviness of her stare. The weight of it. Her lips curl slowly before she releases him, looks around and at them all. “Then come with me.”

  Rivin’s jaw is tight. His throat parched. “What do you want?”

  Slink slaps the table, shocks the room, and cackles loud and knowing, attuned to the instrument she’s playing. “Bug girl wants to keep the ledger.”

  Roach clicks her fingers.

  Bingo.

  “That’s insane.” Chip gasps.

  “It’s shady, is what it is.” Slink laughs.

  “We’d be destroying our only ties to anyone in the Lowrealm!” The blonde's voice is rising.

  Rivin steps forward. His hands were shaking. He stuffs them into his pockets. Feels a familiar icy cold — round edges. This is dangerous. This is dangerous.

  She is dangerous.

  But…

  She waits for him. Patient. Watching. Glowing. Is he the only one that sees it? What’s buried in her eyes?

  His heart is a drum. His palms are wet, so wet, like an hour ago when she’d leant in too close and he’d—

  Jumped.

  He must do it again. Forward this time.

  He draws a breath and regrets the exhale the moment it’s accompanied by the words. “They don’t have to know.”

  The fire spreads like a whip; Roach flares ever brighter. “Exactly. We’ve got the haul to prove it.” She gestures to the three that remain.

  “Kids, Roach.” Chip rakes a hand through his hair. “We got a bunch of fucked-up kids.”

  “And a ledger.” She points to the book, still laid out to dry from days ago. “That’s an excuse.” She points towards Sen and then back to the binder. “And a way up.”

  Sen shakes his head. “You’re crazy.”

  Slink is still grinning, wide as a crescent moon. “Batshit.”

  “Why would we even do that?!” Chip groans.

  Roach sighs. “All that snooping and no one read the Swill book?”

  Rivin nods. “I did.”

  She smirks. “Then you saw.”

  “Halidom contacts.” He confirms.

  “More than that.” She begins to count her fingers. “Trade routes, bypasses, precious materials—everything I—” she pauses, rephrases, “—we need.” Roach picks up the ledger, waving it before them. “The Swill can rebuild; they’ve been doing it forever. This won't hurt them, and if it does? Good. We need the head start.” She flicks through the pages idly, but her eyes are glued ahead, observing every face, every fracture in expression. “This”, she extends the text towards them, “could be a way in…”

  She slams it closed; several flinch.

  “Or a way up.” Her smile is lightning. “I need you to decide which option serves you.” She shakes her head. “Not them.”

  “What about you?” Rivin’s voice is low, restrained.

  “I’ve only got one,” she hums.

  His heart rate picks up. His throat is too dry. He needs something to drink. Something to douse the burning in his chest.

  Someone is anxiously tapping the table.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  “And…?”

  “I’m going to see the sun. The right one.” Her hand is a fist now. “I’m going to burst through.”

  “You’re going to die…” Sen murmurs.

  “Trying.” She snips, furrowing her brow. “I’m going to die trying, or not at all.”

  The boy looks down and wrings out his hands.

  Roach draws a breath. “You need to make a decision. All of you.” Her voice is curt now, booming. She marches forward, centres herself in the small, clustered room. “Come with me and everything changes. Come with me, and I’ll show you a world that we control. A world with a sun.” She doesn’t let the questions linger, standing tall. “I’m going to change everything. I want you to help me. I need you to help me. Come with me.” Her hands reach outward before curling back and into her chest. “Come with me.”

  “Roach—” Rivin tries.

  She turns away, strides towards the door, and settles her fingers upon the knob. “Or don’t.” She snorts, twisting it open. “Stay ghosts. The choice is yours.”

  “Where are you going?” He draws closer, frustrated. Alarmed.

  She throws a grin over her shoulder, one that bolts him to the ground. “Tell them.”

  He swallows his plea, turns to stone. “Tell them…? Tell them what?”

  “Everything.”

  “I don’t know anything—”

  “What’s she talking about, Riv?” Ricket queries hesitantly, stepping forward to tug on the older boy’s sleeve.

  “Yeah.” Slink emphasises, turning in his seat. “What’s she on about?”

  Rivin glares at the instigator, but she’s still smiling. Still bright. She touches him. Her hand — he’s not sure why he expected any different after today. Why he expected her to continue drifting. They can’t drift—not now that their legs have been shackled.

  Were these chains offered too?

  Did he put them on willingly?

  “Roach,” he tries again, “you can’t just—”

  The door swings open, one foot already hovering over the first step. “Tell them where we’re going. Tell them about the knight. The sun. The memory.” She looks ahead. “I told you… It doesn’t always come back the same. We’re running out of time.”

  He blinks, sucks in. “We?”

  Her lips, once a reflection of a life he’d never have, reveal themselves to be poison — curling into a vicious smirk. Her laughter is breathy. “Have you got a short memory?” She teases, her tone different; her eyes aren’t bright—they’re dark, they’re dark, and he’s falling, falling away, and the chains, the chains wrap tight and rattle against his ankles.

  ‘Alright,’ she’d said, ‘just a fall.’

  But she’d known better.

  His heart hurts. The room is too cold.

  She’d known the truth.

  ‘Just a slip, Riv.’

  This isn’t the world through the glass, where girls kiss boys, where he learns to dance and watches the sunset.

  This isn’t that… world.

  This is the one where Roach is dangerous.

  Where you have to be, not to survive —

  No, to live.

  To exist.

  She tilts her head, tangles of hair spilling down her back and shoulders. “You’re my soldier, right?” Sickly sweet, like the blood in his dreams that sucked him into the floor.

  What has he done?

  Her fingers fall away, but her smirk is etched into his chest, burned there like his own painful passport, and then she says, like it’s obvious, like he has no choice but to drop, “You’ll remain by my side.”

  Rivin doesn’t answer, doesn’t argue, and doesn’t trust his mouth. There’s a ticking in his jaw. An echo surrounding him. Hers.

  ‘I’m going to eat it all.’

  She steps through.

  ‘Everything that burns…’

  The door falls closed.

  ‘Rises up.’

  The silence afterwards is thick. Heavy. He can feel the eyes on his back, boring into his spine. He clenches his fists and then sighs, deep and exhausted. Defeated. His shoulders are slumped when he turns, pulling up a chair that screams against the tile. He sits, folds his hands in his lap, and finally looks up—up at the waiting children.

  “Well?” Slink is still grinning, rapping his fingers along the back of his chair. “Spit it out.”

  Rivin nods. “Yeah.”

  He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the stone — the cord attached — and rubs his thumb over the groove.

  Chip sucks in a sharp sound, a sputtered breath. “You still have that?”

  He nods again, holds the necklace high, examining it in the light. It glints, catches the glow, and for a split second he sees the Knight behind his eyes, Mouse’s blood on the ground, running, fighting, losing — the red, hot heat of the drop, ghosts by the gate, the crackling of lightning, the crush of a pillar, and a stolen sun in the palm of a hand.

  Everything.

  The crew look away.

  Sen leans forward. “What is that?”

  Rivin swings the stone until it collects in his palm, clutching it tightly, staring at his fist, at the lace falling over his knuckles.

  “It’s the beginning,” he answers. “It all starts with this.”

  And so too does his tale.

  Only two chapters this week while I work on my short story (don't worry, it's only approximately eight chapters!)

  If you're interested, check it out via the link below!