By the time dawn bled into the rooftops of the lower district, Avary's lungs were on fire and her legs felt like they might give out beneath her.
"Tell me," Sydney gasped beside her, vaulting over a broken cart wheel in the alley, "that you at least got the ruby."
Avary didn't answer.
She just held up her fist.
The deep red glow spilling between her fingers was answer enough.
Sydney let out a half-hysterical laugh.
"You insane, reckless little demon."
Avary grinned, breathless. "You're welcome."
Behind them, the city was finally quiet.
No footsteps.
No shouts.
No angry boys tearing through the alleys trying to reclaim their pride.
They had lost them.
Barely.
The chase had stretched longer than Avary expected-through narrow market lanes, over low walls, across rooftops slick with dew. Twice she'd thought she heard them close behind.
Once she was sure of it. But somewhere near the abandoned tannery, she and Sydney had split left while the men had taken the bridge, and by the time they doubled back through the lantern market, the night had swallowed all trace of them.
Like smoke.
Like thieves.
Like girls who knew these streets better than any desperate stranger ever could.
Sydney bent over, hands on her knees, laughing as she fought for breath. "I swear... if I die because of one of your ideas... I'm haunting you forever."
"You'd be unbearable as a ghost."
"I'm already unbearable."
"True."
Avary finally slowed near the back of an old bakery long since gone to ruin, one of their usual hideouts in priyal when they needed to vanish for an hour or two.
She pressed her shoulder against the wall, chest heaving, and carefully opened her hand.
The ruby pulsed in the weak dawn light.
It was beautiful.
No-beautiful was too soft a word for it.
The stone was cut into a sharp oval, smooth as blood under glass, wrapped in a delicate silver setting that looked old enough to have stories attached to it. Every time it caught the light, it seemed to burn from the inside out.
Sydney straightened, her eyes widening. "Oh."
"Yeah," Avary said softly.
"Oh."
"Exactly."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
They just stared.
Because no matter how many purses Avary had lifted, how many lockboxes she'd cracked, how many jewels they'd sold through back-alley brokers and smiling liars-
Nothing they'd ever touched looked like this.
"This is bad," Sydney said finally.
Avary blinked. "Bad?"
Sydney pointed at the ruby like it had personally offended her. "That kind of bad. The kind that gets people stabbed in alleys."
Avary huffed a laugh, but it came out thin.
Because Sydney wasn't wrong.
A stone like this didn't belong in a moldy hut in the lower districts.
A stone like this belonged in a vault.
Or on a crown.
Or around the neck of someone rich enough to have guards, enemies, and secrets.
Her thoughts snagged on the memory before she could stop them.
The dark room.
The sound of boots on worn wood.
His hand catching her wrist.
Too fast.
Too strong.
And then-
Her stupid, reckless kiss.
Sydney's eyes narrowed slowly.
"Oh no."
Avary instantly frowned. "What?"
"That face."
"What face?"
"The face you make when you're pretending not to think about something while very obviously thinking about it."
"I don't have a face."
Sydney stared.
Avary stared back.
Sydney's mouth curled.
"You kissed him."
Avary rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt. "To distract him."
"Mhm."
"It worked."
"It absolutely did."
Avary pushed off the wall. "Can we focus on the priceless ruby before you make this weird?"
Sydney followed her as they slipped deeper into the abandoned bakery, ducking under a half-collapsed beam.
"I'm not making it weird. I'm just saying if you wanted to rob him, there were easier ways than tasting his mouth first."
Avary nearly choked.
"I did not-"
Sydney gasped dramatically. "Oh my God. Was he a good kisser?"
Avary whipped around. "Sydney."
Sydney burst into laughter.
Avary glared, but heat crept traitorously up her neck anyway.
Because the truth was infuriating.
It had been fast. Barely a second. A trick. A weapon.
And yet-
She could still remember the startled tension in him.
The way he'd frozen.
The heat of his hand at her waist.
The flash in his eyes when he tore off her mask.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Something worse.
Interest.
Avary hated that she remembered any of it.
"Horrible," she said flatly, turning away.
Sydney's grin widened. "Liar."
Avary ignored her and crouched beside the remains of the bakery's old brick oven. A loose stone sat near the base, hidden beneath dust and splintered wood.
Their emergency stash.
Sydney's teasing faded. "You're not taking it to Amelia?"
"Not yet."
That got her attention.
Sydney moved closer. "Avary."
Avary slipped the ruby into the hollow space behind the loose brick and covered it carefully. "If we walk into the hideout carrying that thing, everyone will know."
"And?"
"And Damian will ask where we got it."
Sydney crossed her arms. "Because he should."
Avary exhaled slowly.
This part was harder.
Sydney knew most things. Almost everything. But there were pieces Avary still kept locked away, not because she didn't trust her-she trusted Sydney more than anyone-but because saying certain truths out loud made them too real.
"I need to think," Avary said quietly.
Sydney's gaze softened.
She understood anyway.
Of course she did.
Because Sydney knew what Damian was to Avary.
Not just their crew leader.
Not just the man who taught them how to fight and survive and slip through shadows unseen.
But the man Avary was expected to marry.
The man her parents had promised her to in exchange for clearing their debts before they vanished and left her to live with the consequences.
Sold.
Like a parcel.
Like a coin purse with a heartbeat.
Damian had never forced her.
Not once.
And somehow that almost made it worse.
Because he waited.
Because he was patient.
Because he looked at her like the arrangement was inevitable, like time would soften her into acceptance.
Maybe once, when she was younger and angrier and desperate for somewhere to belong, she'd mistaken that patience for safety.
Now she knew better.
Safety that came with chains was still a cage.
"I could sell it," Avary murmured.
Sydney's expression sharpened. "You mean it."
Avary leaned back against the wall, folding her arms. "Do you know what that ruby could be worth?"
"Enough to get us all killed if you're stupid."
"Enough to buy freedom," Avary corrected.
The words landed heavy between them.
Sydney went very still.
"Avary..."
"If I can sell it quietly-"
"You can't."
"There are brokers in the east quarter who don't ask questions."
"They ask questions with knives."
Avary looked away.
Because Sydney was right.
Again.
But the idea had already sunk its claws into her.
Enough to buy freedom.
Enough to pay the debt that still hung around her neck like a noose.
Enough to walk up to Damian, drop the money in front of him, and say:
I owe you nothing.
No marriage.
No future chosen for her.
No pretending she could grow to love the cage because it happened to be made of kindness instead of cruelty.
For one dangerous, dazzling second, she could almost taste it.
Freedom.
Sydney watched her, worry plain on her face now. "You're really thinking about running."
Avary laughed without humor. "I've been thinking about running since I was fifteen."
"From Damian?"
"From all of it."
Sydney's voice gentled. "He does care about you."
Avary's chest tightened.
"I know."
That was the problem.
If Damian were cruel, this would be easy.
If he were violent, heartless, unbearable-
She'd hate him.
And hate was simple.
But Damian had fed her when she had nowhere to go. Taught her how to pick a lock. Put a knife in her hand and told her never to beg. He looked after the crew like they were pieces of himself, all rough edges and impossible loyalty.
He was not a monster.
He was just not hers.
And she wasn't his.
No matter what her parents had promised.
No matter what everyone expected.
Sydney stepped forward and touched her arm lightly. "Whatever happens, I'm with you."
Avary swallowed.
There it was.
The softness she never let herself show.
The crack in the armor.
"You always say the annoying things when I'm trying to be dramatic."
Sydney smirked. "It's a gift."
A shout echoed somewhere outside.
Both girls tensed.
Then another.
Familiar voices.
The crew.
Damian.
"They're back," Sydney said.
Too soon.
Avary straightened instantly. "We don't mention the ruby."
Sydney hesitated.
"Not yet," Avary added.
Sydney searched her face.
Then, reluctantly, she nodded.
"Fine. But if this goes badly, I reserve the right to say I told you so."
"You always do."
"Because I'm usually right."
They slipped out through the bakery's side entrance and cut across the alley toward the old textile warehouse the crew used as their current hideout.