Five months. Spring's first thaw dripped from warehouse eaves like tears. Tom stopped coughing three days ago. Stopped breathing two days ago.
Kael pressed his palm against cold earth. Potter's field stretched before them, wooden markers tilting at drunken angles. No names. Just dates. Sometimes not even those.
Should they say words? What words existed for a boy who died coughing blood at thirteen?
"Here's good." Mya pointed to a bare patch between two older graves.
They'd wrapped Tom in his own blanket. The one he'd never shared. Now it served as shroud. Patches helped lower the small bundle. Even wrapped, Tom looked too thin. When had he gotten so thin?
This... Kael's throat closed. Another friend underground. Another empty space in their warehouse. Another reminder that winter collected its tax in flesh and souls.
Sara stood apart, hands moving in quick gestures. 'Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.' The same sign, over and over. As if apologizing to Tom for outliving him. As if surviving was betrayal.
"Anyone want to..." Mya's voice cracked. She cleared her throat, tried again. "Anyone want to say something?"
Silence. What was there to say? Tom complained. Tom stole. Tom taught Kael the cup game. Tom shared his blanket that first night when Kael shivered. Tom died. End of story.
Patches ran three hours later. Just gone when they returned to the warehouse. His corner empty except for a note scratched in charcoal: "Can't watch more die."
Could Kael blame him? No. Patches had sense. More sense than those who stayed.
"Just us now." Mya sat on her pile of rags, studying the vast empty space. "Unless we recruit."
Recruit? Who'd join a dying gang in a dying warehouse? Sara's cough had started yesterday. Wet like Tom's. Deep like Tom's.
"We need medicine money." Kael knew the futility even as he spoke. "For Sara."
"Medicine needs gold. We have copper." Mya's laugh held no humor. "Unless you know different math."
Different math. Higher risks. Bigger takes. The kind that got you hanged or worse... sent to wherever those black wagons went.
Sara tapped his shoulder, signed slowly. 'Don't die for me. Promise.'
How could he promise that? They were all dying. Just some faster than others.
That night, Mya started stealing from the middle district. Rich merchants. Noble servants. Each day she returned with better takes. Each day the risks grew.
"Saw black coats near the fountain," Kael warned after spotting two Kiratashi questioning merchants.
"So?" Mya counted coins, dividing them. "They're not hunting pickpockets."
Weren't they? The sealed houses. The rumors of camps. The way certain people disappeared after talking about strange things. It all connected somehow. Had to.
Three nights later, they found the guard.
Drunk. Definitely drunk. The off-duty guard sprawled in an alley behind Madam Rosette's establishment, snoring wine-sour breath. His coat hung open. Papers visible in the inner pocket.
"Keep watch." Mya crept forward.
Should Kael stop her? Stealing from guards meant death. Everyone knew that. But Sara's cough...
Mya's fingers found the papers. Pulled them free. The guard snorted, shifted. They froze. One heartbeat. Five. Ten. He settled back into stupor.
Back at the warehouse, they studied their prize by candlelight. Official documents. Lists of names. Dates. And...
Ah. Kael's birthmark flared. The same symbol from the sealed houses. Three interlocking circles with strange marks. Here, stamped on every page.
"Processing camps," Mya read slowly. "Subject intake schedule. Warehouse 47 collection point."
Processing camps? For what? The pages listed names, ages, districts. Some marked "Collected." Others "Pending." A few "Processed."
What did processed mean?
"Look." Kael pointed to one entry. "This date. Tomorrow night."
Warehouse 47. Industrial district. Scheduled collection tomorrow at second bell.
"We should see." Mya folded the papers. "Know what we're dealing with."
"Too dangerous..."
"Everything's dangerous." She met his eyes. "But this might explain the disappeared. The sealed houses. Your questions you think I don't notice."
She'd noticed. Of course she'd noticed. Mya noticed everything.
"If they catch us..."
"They won't." Her smile held edges. "We're shadows, remember? And shadows see everything."
The next night found them perched on a roof across from Warehouse 47. Full moon cast silver light over empty streets. Too empty. Where were the usual drunks? The night workers? Even rats seemed to avoid this block.
Why? What made this warehouse different from a hundred others?
Guards. That's what. Fifteen visible from their perch. Not regular city watch either. These wore black coats. Moved with trained precision. Checked every shadow.
"Kiratashi," Kael breathed.
Not just guards then. Spirit binders. The ones who'd investigated his parents' death. Who'd hunted him from Millhaven. Here. Guarding a warehouse.
"Look." Mya pointed.
A covered wagon approached. No driver visible, horses moving with unnatural precision. The guards opened massive doors. The wagon rolled inside.
Another wagon. Then another. Six total. All entering, none leaving.
What cargo needed Kiratashi guards? What shipments moved under cover of darkness with no drivers?
"We need closer." Mya started toward the roof edge.
"Mya, no. Those are..."
"I know what they are." She turned back. "My family's name was on those papers. The fire that took them... maybe it wasn't accident. Maybe..."
Maybe what? Maybe they'd been taken? Maybe these camps held answers about more than disappeared strangers?
This... he understood. The need to know. The questions that ate at you. But Kiratashi meant spirits. Spirits meant death.
"Together then." The words surprised him. "But careful. First sign of trouble, we run."
She nodded. They descended, crossed empty streets, found a loading dock with loose boards. Squeezed through. Inside, towers of crates cast maze-like shadows.
Voices ahead. They crept closer, using crates as cover.
"...forty-three this shipment. Good harvest."
"Young ones?"
"Mix. The old woman from Dock Street finally talked. About seeing lights. Had to take the whole building."
Kael's blood chilled. Seeing lights? Like Martha had reported him? Take the whole building?
They peered around a crate. The wagon's back stood open. Guards unloaded...
No. No no no.
People. Unconscious people. Carried like sacks of grain. Men. Women. Children. Transferred from wagons to crates marked "Fragile - Do Not Open."
"Careful with the small ones," a guard called. "They wake easier."
Processing camps. Not for goods. For people. People who'd seen too much. Talked too much. Asked too many questions.
Like Mya was asking now.
"We have to..." She started forward.
Kael grabbed her arm. Pointed. A Kiratashi stood near the wagons, spirit partially manifested. A writhing shadow that tasted the air with tendrils of darkness.
One step into the open and it would sense them. One sound and fifteen Kiratashi would descend. One mistake and they'd join those crates.
But Mya pulled free. Crept toward a manifest desk. Had to see. Had to know.
The papers sat there. Lists of names. Destinations. Her fingers traced down...
"Brennan family," she whispered. "House fire survivors. Processed at Camp Seven. Status: Expired."
Expired. Such a clean word for death.
Her hands shook. The papers rustled. Too loud. The shadow-spirit's tendrils swung toward their location.
Run. Now. RUN!
They bolted. Through the maze of crates. Toward the loose boards. Behind them, shouts arose.
"Movement in section four!"
"Release the seekers!"
Seekers? Kael glanced back. Three more spirits manifested. Hound-shaped but wrong. Too many legs. Too many eyes. They flowed between crates like liquid nightmare.
The loading dock. There! Mya dove through first. Kael followed. A seeker's teeth snapped where his foot had been.
Out. Across the street. Up a drainpipe. Over rooftops. The seekers couldn't follow. Too solid for narrow spaces. But their howls...
"This way!" Mya led through routes Kael didn't know. Secret paths. Emergency escapes. Smart Mya. Always prepared Mya.
They ran until their lungs burned. Until their legs shook. Until even fear couldn't drive them further.
"The old bridge," Mya gasped. "Meet at the old bridge if separated. Remember?"
Why did that sound like goodbye?
More howls. Closer. The Kiratashi hadn't given up. Wouldn't give up. Not when witnesses had seen their operation.
"Split up." Mya pushed him toward an alley. "Confuse them. Meet at dawn."
"Mya..."
"Go!" She sprinted the opposite direction.
Kael ran. What else could he do? Behind him, the night filled with hunters. Human and otherwise. All seeking shadows that had seen too much.
He led them through four districts. Used every trick. Every hidden path. Finally lost them in the sewer tunnels where even seekers wouldn't follow.
Emerged at the old bridge as dawn painted the sky. Waited. Watched. Hoped.
The sun climbed. Noon passed. Evening approached.
Mya never came.