“Sorry, puss. I don’t have time—”
It rubbed against me again—but this time, it nipped my pants, then padded away… in theoppositedirection from my plan. Then it stopped. Looked back.
“What?” I hissed.
It chirped again. Stepped closer. Bit at my hem and tugged, more deliberate this time.
I frowned.
“…Are you seriously trying to lead me somewhere?”
It turned and walked a few more paces, slow and deliberate. Then paused.
That same pull again, low in my chest. Like instinct. Like the feeling I always got when the shadows whispered.
This wasn’t just a cat.
I don’t know what possessed me—but something deep in my gut insisted I follow. It wasn’t logic. It wasn’t caution. It was instinct. That same primal pull I felt when the shadows stirred around my ankles.
“This better be good,” I muttered under my breath, heart pounding as I cast one last glance toward the crowd, then slipped after the cat.
It led me down a crooked alley, far from the drums and dazzled citizens, until the roar of the parade faded into a low, distant echo. We stopped at a crumbling section of the city wall—quiet, forgotten, half-swallowed by ivy and time.
Then I saw it.
A grate. Iron bars, rusted and moss-slick, barely two feet high.
“You havegotto be joking,” I groaned.
The cat chirped again and sat beside it, tail flicking expectantly, as if this was the grand reveal it had been leading me toward.
I crouched, inspecting the opening. It was tight—insultingly tight. Maybe a child could fit through without breaking a sweat, but me? In leather pants and a knife belt?
“You want me to crawl intothat?” I asked, incredulous.
The cat blinked at me slowly, like the universe’s most unimpressed guide.
“Great. I’m taking orders from a stray now,” I muttered, pulling off my jacket to make myself smaller. The cold bit at my arms immediately.
I tried not to think about what might be lurking inside. Rats. Snakes. Or worse—traps. But Finn’s face flashed behind my eyes, pale and burning, his breath rasping like he was already halfway gone.
I didn’t have time to be precious. I would face worse to save him.
With a sharp breath, I dropped to my knees.
“Alright, fuzzball,” I whispered. “Lead the way.”
And into the dark I went.
Chapter 3
Elira
The tunnel was tight, damp, and reeking of mould and old sewage and it went for about fifty metres. It was the kind of space that swallowed sound and hope alike. If I’d been even an inch taller—or better fed—there’s no way I would’ve fit. But for once, being small and half-starved was a blessing.
I scraped through on my elbows, each movement a slow, gritty crawl that smeared mud along my arms and soaked me to the skin. The smell made me gag with each pull. I didn’t want to know what kind of filth I was lying in. My breath fogged in the air, shallow and fast, and I tried not to think about what else might be slithering through the dark around me.
After what felt like hours—but was probably minutes—I dragged myself out of the tunnel’s mouth, emerging from a low, moss-choked bank that dripped with grimy water. I landed in a crouch, breath heaving, my palms stinging from the cold stone.
