Two weeks. Fourteen days of Mya's lessons. The cup-and-pebble game sat before him. Find the stone, win your life.
"Too slow." Tom smirked as Kael picked wrong again. "Street guards move faster than that."
Should he punch Tom? The thought came often. No. Save energy for important things. Like eating. Like not dying.
"Again." Mya's hands blurred. Cup left. Cup right. Cup middle. "Watch my shoulders, not my hands."
Her shoulders? But the hands moved the cups... Ah. Her left shoulder dipped slightly when she shifted the stone right. Tiny tell. Invisible unless you knew.
"Middle cup."
She lifted it. Stone gleamed. "Better. But guards don't have tells. They have patterns."
Patterns. Everything in Ashenmoor had patterns. Wake at fifth bell when guard shifts changed. Morning theft rounds while merchants set up. Afternoon learning escape routes. Evening sharing whatever they'd found. Sleep in shifts. Always watching.
"See that merchant?" Mya nodded toward the market square.
They perched on a rooftop. Best view. Safest distance. The cloth merchant below counted coins, distracted by haggling customer.
"Watch his eyes, not his hands," she whispered. "Where does he look when worried?"
Left pocket? No. Right boot. The merchant's gaze flicked down whenever the customer pressed too hard. Checking something hidden.
This... survival was puzzles. Solve the human puzzle, eat today. Fail, and...
"Guards turn left at this corner," Mya continued. "Always left. Why?"
Because... the right led to their barracks? Too simple. Because the brothel on the right gave free drinks to guards? Maybe. Or...
"Cobbler's daughter." The realization hit sudden. "Guard captain courts her. They avoid that street so he won't see them slacking."
"Ha!" Mya punched his shoulder. "Quick thinking. See? Patterns."
They climbed down. Practiced pickpocketing on Tom, who complained constantly. "Why always me? Use Patches!"
"Patches too small." Mya demonstrated the brush-and-grab. "Need someone Kael's height. Stop whining."
Kael tried. Step one: approach naturally. Step two: create contact. Step three: apologize while lifting purse. His fingers fumbled. Tom's fake purse dropped.
"Dead." Tom drew finger across throat. "Guard sees that, you hang."
Again. Again. Seventeen times until his fingers remembered the motion. Not thinking. Just moving. Like sketching used to be. Muscle memory.
"Better." Mya actually smiled. "Tomorrow we try real marks."
Real marks. Real risk. His stomach clenched. But emptier stomach hurt worse.
That night, they shared half a loaf between five. Sara had found moldy cheese. Patches contributed two apples, bruised but edible. Tom brought nothing, claimed bad luck.
"Tell us about before," Patches asked Kael.
Before? Which before? Before the streets? Before the blue light? Before everything broke?
"Nothing interesting."
"Everyone has before." Patches pulled threadbare blanket tighter. "I had parents. Merchants. Sold cloth. Then father gambled. Lost everything. Then sickness came..."
He trailed off. Nobody pressed. Everyone understood trailing off.
"I had fires," Mya said suddenly.
Silence. She never talked about before.
"Big fires. Whole district." She stared at the small cooking flame. "Some say accident. Some say... other things. Doesn't matter. Fire doesn't care why it burns."
Other things? Like spirits? No. Couldn't be. Just fire. Just tragedy. Just human cruelty or human accident.
...Right?
His birthmark itched. Stop that. Stop looking for spirits everywhere. They'd killed his family, yes. But most tragedy came from normal sources. Disease. Poverty. Human evil.
"We all got our ghosts, yeah?" Mya broke the silence. "But ghosts don't fill bellies. Sleep. Tom's got watch."
They settled onto their spots. Kael pulled his moldy blanket up. Listened to night sounds. Rats. Wind. Distant shouting. Tom humming tunelessly at the window.
Seventeen escape routes from market square. He reviewed them mentally. South through furniture district. East over cooper roofs. North was trickiest... guard station there. But possible if you knew about the connected basements.
"Kael." Sara's gesture caught his eye. She rarely communicated.
She pointed at him, then her eyes, then made a motion like pushing away. Did she mean his nightmares? He'd tried staying quiet, but...
He nodded understanding. She gave tiny smile. Returned to her corner.
Were his dreams that obvious? Mira's twisted head. Blue light consuming warmth. His parents arranged like broken dolls. Every night the same. Every night he woke gasping.
This... was this life now? Stealing bread and fighting nightmares? How long before he became like Tom? Suspicious and mean. How long before he forgot Mira's real laugh?
No. Remember. Always remember. The memories hurt but losing them would hurt worse.
"Guard patrol," Tom hissed.
Everyone stilled. Footsteps passed outside. Torchlight flickered through cracks. Kael held his breath. The steps continued. Safe. For now.
How many other children hid in Ashenmoor's shadows? Hundreds? Thousands? All with befores they couldn't return to.
Mya was right. Quick thinking mattered more than quick hands. And his thoughts felt quicker every day. Sharper. Like hunger honed them into weapons.
Good. He'd need weapons. Not for stealing bread but for finding answers. About spirits. About black coats. About why his birthmark burned when he dreamed.
Tomorrow, Mya would teach him to read the street's rhythm. Next week, maybe picking locks. Next month...
Could he last a month? Tom bet against it. But Tom bet against everyone. Sara lasted. Patches lasted. Even with one foot twisted from old injury.
He'd last. He'd learn. He'd become shadow himself if needed.
Because somewhere out there, spirits existed. Origin items waited. And maybe, possibly, ways to fight back against things that wore familiar faces while spreading frozen death.
First lesson: Survive. Second lesson: Blend in. Third lesson...
Well. He'd learn that when ready.
The night deepened. Tom's humming stopped. Sara took over watch, silent as always. Kael drifted toward sleep, birthmark throbbing with his heartbeat.
In dreams, Mya's fire lesson mixed with blue light. Both burned. Both consumed. Both left only ash and questions.
But questions could wait. Tomorrow brought its own challenges. Like not fumbling the brush-and-grab. Like finding enough food. Like staying invisible in a city that devoured the visible.
One day. One theft. One lesson at a time.
That's all any of them had.