Tal had never liked maps.
On paper they were lies straight lines pretending streets did not flood, arrows ignoring where people actually walked.
Tonight, he needed the lies.
He'd spread a crumpled district map across the stairwell landing between second and third, weighting the corners with old ration tins. Jesen crouched opposite him, braid slipping over one shoulder. Two other kids from the block, Nia and Rell, hovered nearby, peeking through the railing in case patrol boots showed up.
"Again," Tal said.
Jesen sighed, but traced the path with her finger.
"From here," she said, tapping their building, "down to the old arch scar, then cut through the back alley behind Haro's stall, past the broken scanner on Seventh, across to the service lane, then up by the dead checkpoint."
"Dead checkpoint," Nia repeated, a little too gleeful.
Tal nodded.
