Legend

I think about contacting Thomas. But I’m not in the mood to hear his voice right now. I’m not even sure why. Tomorrow morning, then, first thing. I lean my head back too and stare up at the clothes hanging above us. Other than the distant sounds of night-shift crowds and occasional JumboTron broadcasts, it’s a peaceful evening, just like at home. The silence makes me think of Metias.

I make sure that the sound of my crying doesn’t wake Tess and the boy.

I ALMOST KISSED THE GIRL LAST NIGHT.

But nothing good can come out of falling for someone on the streets. That’s the worst weakness you can have, right up there with having a family stuck in a quarantined zone or a street orphan needing you.

And yet . . . a part of me still wants to kiss her, no matter how cracked a move it might be. This girl can point out a detail on the streets a mile away. (“The shutters on that building’s third-floor windows must’ve been scavenged from a rich sector. Solid cherrywood.”) With a knife, and in one throw, she can skewer a hot dog from an unattended stand. I can see her intelligence in every question she asks me and every observation she makes. But at the same time, there’s an innocence that makes her completely different from most of the people I’ve met. She’s not cynical or jaded. The streets haven’t broken her. They’ve made her stronger instead.

Like me.

Throughout the morning, we hunt for more opportunities to make money—naive police to pickpocket, stuff in trash bins to resell, unguarded pier crates to pry open—and when that’s done, we find a new spot to camp for the night. I try to keep my thoughts on Eden, on the money I need to collect before it’s too late, but I start thinking up new ways to mess with the Republic’s war campaign instead. I could hitch a ride on an airship, siphon off its precious fuel, then sell it on the market or divvy it up to people who need it. I could destroy the airship altogether before it heads off to the warfront. Or target the electric grids of Batalla or the airfield bases, cut their power and shut them down. These thoughts keep me occupied.

But every now and then, when I steal a glance at the Girl, or feel her eyes on me, I helplessly drift back to thinking about her.

NEARLY 2000 HOURS.

AT LEAST 80°F.

THE BOY AND I SIT TOGETHER IN THE BACK OF ANOTHER alley while Tess sleeps a short distance away. The boy has given her his vest again. I watch as he files his nails down by scraping them with the edge of his knife. He’s taken the cap off his head, for once, and combed through the tangles in his hair.

He’s in a good mood. “You want a sip?” he asks me.

A bottle of nectar wine sits between us. It’s cheap stuff, probably made from those bland sea grapes that grow in ocean water. But the boy acts like this wine is the best thing in the world. He’d stolen a case of bottles from a shop at Winter sector’s edge earlier in the evening and sold all but this one for a grand total of 650 Notes. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly he gets around the sectors. His agility is on par with the top students at Drake.

“I’ll have some if you do,” I say. “Can’t let your stolen goods go to waste, can I?”

He grins at that. I watch as he stabs his knife into the bottle’s cork, then pops it out and throws his head back for a long swig. He wipes a thumb across his mouth and smiles at me. “Delicious,” he says. “Have some.”

I accept the bottle and take a small sip before handing it back to him. Salty aftertaste, just as I thought. At least it might ease the pain in my side.

We continue taking turns—large swigs for him, small sips for me—until he recorks the bottle, seeming to put it away the instant he feels it dulling his awareness. Even so, his eyes look glossier, and the blue irises take on a lovely, reflective sheen.

He may not let himself lose his ability to focus, but I can tell that the wine has relaxed him. “So tell me,” I decide to ask. “Why do you need so much money?”

The boy laughs. “Is that a serious question? Don’t we all want more money? Can you ever have enough?”

“You like answering all my questions with your own questions?”

He laughs again. But when he speaks, his voice has a sad tinge to it. “Money is the most important thing in the world, you know. Money can buy you happiness, and I don’t care what anyone else thinks. It’ll buy you relief, status, friends, safety . . . all sorts of things.”

I watch as his eyes take on a faraway look. “It seems like you’re in an awful hurry to stock up.”

This time he shoots me an amused look. “Why wouldn’t I be? You’ve probably lived on the streets as long as I have. You should know the answer to that, yeah?”

I look down. I don’t want him to see the truth. “I guess so.”

We sit in silence for a moment.