Rounding the corner of the building, I spotted the figure in the alleyway. He was an Unseen. Far younger than I expected, and his short stature lent itself to his youthful appearance. His yellow hair was shaggy and unkempt, hanging down in his face and nearly obscuring his pale orange eyes.
He would have fit right in with the Urchins when we lived on these streets.
A shifting breeze filled the alleyway, and the boy tensed, turning to face the entrance. He pulled a small, gleaming knife from his jacket, holding it out in front of him at an awkward angle.
“Show yourself!” he commanded, fangs bared.
“Peace,” I spoke calmly, allowing the blanket of magic over me to drop.
The kid sucked in a breath, lowering his weapon.
“Shit, it’s really you. Rudderkin.”
“Call me Azrael,” I said, taking a step closer. “What may I call you?”
“Benji,” he replied, rubbing the end of his sharp nose. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. How did you get past the barrier, Benji?”
“I didn’t. I’ve been on this side of things since the City Guard weaved it. Been running info back to my brother on the other side. He’s the one that reached out when all this shit started.”
“That’s very brave of you.”
Benji let out a huff. “You don’t have to talk to me like I’m a child.”
“How old are you?”
“I’ll be twelve next week.”
“Apologies. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
The child shrugged, the peaks of his cheeks ruddy. “S’fine.”
“What can you tell me about the situation at the Cradle?”
“It’ll be easier to show you,” he replied, waving for me to follow him as he stalked out of the alleyway, oblivious to the noise of his footsteps. I followed after him.
“Thad—my brother—says that you used to live here,” Benji said as we walked.
“That’s true. I was about your age when I left.”
“To join the rebellion?”
“Something like that.”
“I wish I were old enough to join.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
Benji paused for a moment, his brow drooping with concentration. “Because I want to help. Thad says that we should help people when we can. Especially other Unseen. It’s the only way that things will get better.”
“He’s right. But there are other ways to help than fighting.”
“Then why did you choose to fight?”
I hesitated in my answer. The truth was, I didn’t choose it. Nor did the other Urchins. Rudderkin—the man who took us from the streets—made it seem like we had no other choice. That we would follow him, or slowly starve. It wasn’t till I was far older, and my hands were already stained with the blood of countless adversaries of Rudderkin, that we came to the realization.
Now, it was impossible for me not to see myself reflected in the eyes of this child. He was standing at the same place I did, all those years ago.
