Much to Raya's relief, the street outside her home was abandoned. Faceless windows and stiff brick roofs looked on as she staggered the final few steps to the front door, filling the quiet with her ragged breaths, her headache peeling thunder through her skull. Exhaustion dragged at her ankles with water's weight and made every motion ache. She despised every creaking step that led to her room, clinging to the rail to lever herself up each one, her legs ready to crumble underneath her.

The fierce buzz in her veins kept her from collapsing. She fell against her desk, propped with both hands as she took a slow, steady moment to breathe. It solved nothing. She could only listen to her pulse, hearing Hariq's brittle voice in her head over and over until it drowned in the haze sitting heavy on her shoulders.

Everything was heavy. Her thick ponytail pulled on her scalp as she raised her head, lancing an ache along the back of her neck that spiderwebbed into her shoulder blades. Gritting her teeth, she dug her fingers underneath the clasp that held it in place and tore it off, allowing charcoal waves of hair to tumble down her back, though it hardly softened the weight. Black swept the edges of her vision as she turned, smooth strands tickling her cheeks. She did her best to ignore it and the throbbing built behind her eyes, focused instead on pulling open her desk drawer and rifling through it.

It took her a second longer than it should've, but soon enough her fingers closed around the smooth wooden shaft of Corvin's flute. She clamped it against her chest, shoved the drawer shut, and marched downstairs without a backward glance.

The more the idea unfurled in her mind, set in place by strips of decisively iron will, the more solid and swift her steps became. When set on a task, her hands moved of their own accord. It reminded her of her haste to heal Corvin on that very first day, the one that had started it all—the desperation that thrummed through her came in the same bittersweet rush, her thoughts and fingers shaky but steady when they needed to be. She was still terribly afraid, but time and choice rolled the feeling into a spark of determination. She moved into her dressing room and avoided meeting her own mirrored gaze. She didn't need to dwell on what she looked like right now, what lurked in her eyes, whether or not she was really too numb to have let tears trickle down her cheeks. She would not cry now. She only needed to act.

She freed herself from her cloak at lightning pace, tossing it to her feet and stepping over it as she crossed the room's threshold. She wished to dwell on that least of all.

Next came the dress. She shrugged the thin straps off her shoulders and then stopped, neck bent awkwardly as she twisted her arms behind her back to claw at its clasp. The garment was sewn up at the back—it kept the light fabric sitting snug against her skin, and maintained her figure's curves in what she supposed was flattering grace—and, lovely as it might have been, it was near impossible to untie by herself. After several long moments of picking at the threads, frustration clenching the joints in her fingers until they were useless, she grabbed a fistful of material and yanked.

It was slenderly woven and ripped surprisingly easily. The sound raked her senses, startling and strangely freeing. Cool shade caressed her bare shoulder blade. She kept pulling, wincing as the tearing sound continued but forcing it to lengthen on and on until the garment slid off her entirely, lifting another weight. The beads' clatter was muffled against the carpet and folds of the skirt. It fell at her feet as a pool of rich violet and indigo, shimmering dully in the room's cheery light.

She kicked off her shoes and threw a glance at her closet. Brief hesitation overcame her. A fleeting scan of her array of dresses and skirts, arranged like a gradient wave from frothy pinks and frost-glass blues to purples spawned of twilight skies, was all it took to set in a knot of uncertainty. Every one leapt out at her, and that wouldn't do. They were all the shades of herself, all the colours Yasmin had complimented and perfected, all the days she'd shone. They belonged to Rayanah Kel-Jabir, unquestioning mage.

She turned away and dashed to Hariq's closet.

Her heart burned, a beating fire that threatened to claw its way from her chest, singeing her fingertips as they trailed his neat line of shirts. Pearloid pendants clinked against one another, hung from their swinging wire hangers; she recalled sewing them together by hand when she was young. Each was uniquely shaped, designed to be felt for, so that he could identify every garment and choose for himself what he wore. He'd pulled her into a hug when she told him. He'd squeezed her tight and firm and buried his head in the crook of her neck, and murmured in her ear that she had the kindest soul of anyone—that he would not trade her for all the power in the world.

Her view of the clothes grew blurry. Sucking in a sharp breath, she swiped her eyes with her sleeve and plucked one at random: a cerulean top that frayed at the hem and spilled miniature waves from its small, sharp V of a collar, tickling her chin as she pulled it over her head. The collar's high ring caught on her dust pouch. She wrestled it off and, once she'd paired the shirt with a pair of dark, flowing trousers, tucked it into a pocket.

She snatched the blue cloak she'd taken the other night and flung it over one shoulder. Adrenaline warmed her skin too greatly for her to want its covering, though she knew she'd have to hide within it the moment she stepped outside. Her hair tipped over her shoulders, half-tucked beneath the shirt but bulging out, even heavier than before. Dragging her fingers through its tangles in some vain attempt to soothe her panic and ready herself, she spun around.

Momentum carried her forward one small step, but no more. The doorway was blocked.

Yasmin gripped the doorframe like it was her anchor against collapsing. Face ashen, she stared, the green in her eyes never more piercing. "Rayanah?" Her voice was weak, wavering off into a dry silence.

Raya was suddenly and acutely aware of everything: the pinch of Hariq's high collar; the tumbling frills of his shirt swinging around her thighs, a limp and unimpressive imitation of a skirt; the tickling snag of the base of his long trouser legs as they draped folds over her bare feet and caught beneath her heels. In this moment, she shrank. She was small and too slim, a child playing dress up in her brothers' clothes. It took a wrenching tug within her mind to shatter the image, though its fragments still scratched at her skin. She tightened her grip on Corvin's flute and pulled it close to her hip.

Her other hand crossed her shoulder to grasp the cloak tossed over it. She lifted her chin, meeting her attendant's gaze as sternly as she could. "I'm leaving."

The image wouldn't hold. Her face was still damp from crying. Tiredness sat like silt on her bones, crushing her until cracks formed in her resolve, but she let the words hang in the air between them.

Yasmin's eyes drifted to the side—to the torn dress Raya had carelessly discarded—and she drew in a sharp breath, something soft and fragile shivering in her expression. Her hands found her mouth. "What..." It took visible effort for her fingers to slide away; trembling, they wrung together and dug into her chest. "Where are you going?"

The question was jagged, scraping Raya's chest hollow. She searched for an answer and found it barren. The flute's carved holes dented her palm.

Yasmin's lips pressed together, twisting into a fragile frown. "Rayanah—"

"I'm leaving Tehazihbith."

Silence fell swift and harsh, like the words lined a blade sharp enough to cleave through all sound. Her bold statement swelled to fill the empty space. Yasmin physically withdrew as if fearful of letting it touch her, stepping back so that the hallway's crystal lights bathed her in creamy white, her long, shivering dress paled to that of a ghost. Slowly, she shook her head, disbelief stark in her gaze.

To leave was not possible. To travel, perhaps, dressed in fine jewels and a cloak stained any shade of the sun and armed with weapons, to hunt and protect and return victorious as mages did. But not leave. Certainly not dressed like a man, wild and unkempt and clutching a beastfolk's foreign instrument in place of a knife's hilt.

Raya clamped her jaw tightly shut. Hearing it out loud outlined every ridiculous aspect of her plan, everything crazy about the jumbled mess her head had become, but she would not rescind the words. They hung, stoic and solid, a plinth to stand upon as she stared Yasmin down.

"Leave?" Yasmin's voice was so quiet it barely made a sound. She drew in a breath and continued only a little louder. "I... don't believe I follow. Where could you go?"

"I don't know yet." The honesty of that scraped her throat raw. The unknown loomed before her, as cold and black and blinding as the desert at night—yet, just like the night, she would find something worthwhile hidden within, something as pure and freeing as the stars. Such a thing would not seek her out if she stayed. All that would come for her would be hurt and the sting of consequences and the knotted tangles of the war she'd seen stir in that arena.

Her mouth grew dry and sour. Fear was what drove her, in the end. She didn't want to be here when the sands reddened with the beasts' blood, or when more beastfolk arrived to slaughter and steal. She didn't want to suffer Hariq's hate when he discovered what she'd hid from him.

It was better to vanish than to be a pawn in a war, or a traitor snagged on the end of a blade. She would run, and though it made her a coward and burned with guilt, the desire fizzed and sputtered within her until she could see no alternative path. Her feet itched, desperate to carry her away.

She was nothing perfect, not a saviour, not kind, not good, not strong. She wished Yasmin would stop looking at her with such wholesome pity.

She made her voice cold, tasted each syllable as if it were made of ice. "But I'll take whatever path leads me from here, and I doubt I will return. Step out of my way."

Tears glazed Yasmin's eyes, but a fierce light lit underneath. Squaring her shoulders, she moved to fully block the doorway, fists clenched. "No," she choked out.

Her pleading look yanked at Raya's heartstrings, tangling them with the frustration that rose hot within her. Why now, of all moments, would Yasmin choose to find her strength, to make this more difficult than it already was? Steeling herself, she marched forward, summoning her mother's arched back and confidence. It had no effect; her attendant didn't budge.

"Move," she snapped. She heard it then—the venom in her voice, wickedly sharp enough to cut her tongue—and it rebounded upon her like a plucked bowstring, shattering the anger to sparks before it had properly had a chance to build. This was not nearly Yasmin's fault. She was caught in the teeth of this city's trap as much as Raya was, as much as any of them. Some mix of fate or blood or the wind's magic pitted them against each other when they should've been simple friends.

Longing slammed into her, so fierce and sudden it could've knocked her off her feet. She took the final step slow, releasing her stoic mask in an exhale, skin prickling with vulnerability as she let her fear show.

"Please," she said softly. "I must go."

Yasmin's tears had a dark glimmer as they slid down her cheeks, shaded by her unruly headwrap. In a surge of movement, she seized Raya's wrists, pulling her close so quickly that Raya stumbled. Short breaths brushed her chin where Yasmin's face tilted towards hers.

The attendant's grip was shaky and desperate, rough, calloused fingers digging in too tight. "You don't," she whispered. "Rayanah, this is madness. Whatever problem you're facing, I'll fix it." Her voice cracked. "We can figure this out together."

Raya hadn't the strength to pull from Yasmin's hold, though a squirming beneath her skin made her itch to. Instead she only let out a soft sigh. "What could you do?"

The words emerged quiet, reluctant, tempered by a smile that soon flickered out. Yasmin flinched at them all the same. However carefully administered, such a raw truth always hurt.

Instead of hang her head as usual, however, she clenched her jaw. Iron determination lined the fire in her gaze. "Everything," she bit out, the word trembling with emotion. "I would do anything for you, Raya. Because I love you."

Warmth welled up in Raya's chest. A razored chill rose within the instant to temper it, soaking her heart with heaviness. Gently, she prised herself free. "I know."

Frozen, Yasmin stared with widening eyes. A dark flush crept into her cheeks. She parted her lips, but little more than a wordless stutter emerged.

Guilt twisted Raya's gut. She looked away; even meeting that hopeful gaze was painful, a blade driven straight to her soul, searching a place that was merely hollow. "I care for you deeply, Yasmin." Her words were too clipped. "But I don't feel the same as you. You won't change my mind."

She should've said that long ago. Now it finally sat between them, it felt no less easy, yet Raya cursed herself for holding it in for so long. Maybe then Yasmin wouldn't have wilted like a tree sapped of magic, despair steadily crawling through her like a rot. Her smile lifted thinly, wavered, then fell away. Her hands still lingered in the air. She drew them back to her, allowing them to clasp one another instead. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I only ever wanted—"

"I can't stay to listen to an apology," Raya said sharply, "and I don't need one. Move, please."

Obedience fell as a shutter, and Yasmin shuffled silently aside.

She lingered in the corner, watching as a pair of tearful eyes from the shadows, as Raya crossed the threshold. She ignored the stare's sting along with the silken feel of the cloak she stepped on, laid creased and forgotten as a sun-coloured puddle in the doorway, and turned swiftly to tear open another drawer. This one housed a smattering of Hariq's weapons. Stealing from him yet again squeezed her lungs with a persistent fist, but she pushed past her hesitation anyway and snatched up an ivory dagger, its serrated white edge eerily reminiscent of real teeth. She flipped its handle, relieved that it at least didn't hold much weight. With it nestled in her grip and Corvin's flute pocketed, she felt a little safer.

Still, her shoulders continued to ache. Long waves of her hair tickled her face, pooling into the creased lines of her brother's shirt as black swirls and heating her back with its weight. She was almost to the front door when the idea struck her. She stopped in her tracks, gaze snagging on the blade.

There was a logic to it. With long hair and a man's clothing, she was bound to attract attention. She couldn't afford to stand out in that way. But that wasn't the driving force of the strange exhilaration that buzzed through her veins as she lifted the dagger, fisting a sizable clump of her hair as she teased it back from her neck, and slid its blade into the gap.

Behind her, Yasmin let out a strangled gasp. "Wait, no!"

Raya flicked the dagger outward, cleaving through her hair. Some locks resisted, thick and well cared for as they were, so she hacked at them, doing her best not to wince at the prickle of the choppy strands as they dropped against her neck and curled towards the base of her jaw. It felt unbelievably strange, like drifting from herself. Yet, bit by bit, the weight fell away. She felt practically light-headed when she cut through the final strand and twisted to look at the charcoal coils, fanned around her feet in a haphazard crescent. When she lifted the glance a little higher, she caught sight of Yasmin lingering only a pace beyond, outstretched arm falling limply back to her side.

She stared in horrified shock at the mess. "What have you done?"

Raya looked away. An odd, newfound strength coursed through her, her limbs settling into the loose, ill-fitting drapes of her brother's clothes. She felt like a stranger. Distant curiosity awoke within her that tugged her thoughts in the direction of the mirror she'd always feared, to see what destroying herself truly looked like, but it was foolish, and there wasn't time.

She threw on Hariq's cloak and tied its clasp across her throat. "Goodbye, Yasmin."

If Yasmin replied, it didn't find Raya's ears. She shoved open the door and stepped out into the waning sunlight.

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