The next days are a blur of progress in the garage behind the Bitbucket.

I helped Gidget work on the zoomer every day while Tiny tweaked the coding for the gigacube. Gidget tinkered in the hood and under the zoomer, removing parts, welding them, and putting the pieces back together. She'd tried to explain to me how energy flows through each connecting part, working together as one, while the other, high-tech parts enhance the vehicle as a whole. But the more I watched, the more it seemed like a puzzle with seats and wheels.

Macon popped in and out of the garage during the week, sometimes with a few anxious looking Starfoxes, sometimes alone. But each time he strolled in, he'd say something quippy to Gidget or Tiny—even Zero, who obviously never spoke back—and he only gave me an acknowledging nod.

It didn't matter. He doesn't really matter in the scheme of things after all. Yet this change still bothered me like an itch I couldn't ignore. I've ran through the scenarios of all the things I could've done wrong and the only moment that seems to have any relevance is the Starcatcher. Was I wrong in taking it? Macon's persuasion could've only been a test—a test I might've failed. But I wouldn't let it bother me. I couldn't. There are more important things to worry about, things that don't involve a reckless mage playing my emotions like a rigged game of cards.

Today he sits on a stool at a wobbly-looking work desk pushed against the far wall. He is still and quiet—which for him is as strange and out of place as a Nightstalker in the light. No matter how much I tell myself to stop worrying over it, my eyes are drawn to him every time he's in the room. His presence is nearly impossible to ignore.

"You've got to be kidding me," Gidget groans from under the zoomer. She pulls herself out and sits up on the small rolling cart she frequently uses to slip in and out of the narrow workspace between the zoomer and the ground. Grease is smudged across her forehead and the freckles on her cheeks. She throws her wrench to the ground and lets out a string of curses that makes Zero lay down and cover his snout with his paws in a clear attempt to hide.

I'm afraid to ask, but I do anyway. "What is it?"

Gidget sighs. "Furyon-oxide. The booster tanks are empty. I could've sworn they were full a few days ago. Actually, I know they were. I don't forget." She stands up and puts her fists on her hips, glaring over the roof of the zoomer toward Macon. He glances at her as if he just noticed she was in the garage.

"What?" he asks with a shrug of his shoulders. "Don't look at me." I swear the star on his foxtail tattoo winks at me.

I glance to Gidget and assess her narrowed eyes. If looks could kill, Macon would be dead on the floor from the venom in her gaze. I want some of the damage for myself.

"I smell something fishy going on, Falcove," I say, forcing Macon's eyes to finally fall on me. If he wants to be a jerk, then two can play that game. "First the Nether slip-up, now the missing furyon. Are you saying this is just a coincidence?"

Macon doesn't hesitate to answer. "I don't believe in coincidences. There is reason for everything, even chaos."

"Okay, cryptic-ass," Gidget says. "For one time in your life, give a straight answer. Did one of the Starfoxes swipe the furyon?"

"It's a possibility. I don't keep tabs on everyone. It's kind of the point of the Starfoxes—liberation."

Gidget groans in frustration and turns away from Macon, facing me instead. Zero nudges Gidget's leg with his head, a small whimper from him making her reach down to scratch behind his pointed ears. "We've got to get more furyon-oxide," she says, defeat lacing her voice. "There's no way you can race without it. It would be like a pixie in a dragon fight."

Tiny stands up from the desk he was working at. He pulls out a mini-techpad from his back pocket and types away with his thumbs while he walks toward the two of us. "It—it—it says online that Roadwayz has a deal for two full tanks at the low price of two-hundred shinies."

"And do you have two-hundred shinies to donate to the 'We're All Broke Fund'?" Gidget asks.

"Maybe it's time to give up on this whole Race for Light fantasy?" Macon calls from across the garage.

"Never," Gidget, Tiny, and I say together. Zero barks in agreement.

"Ugh." Macon slowly drags his hand down his face. "You lot are relentless." The cocky, sarcastic face I've become accustomed to over the past few weeks is gone. What's changed?

Gidget kicks her toolbox, sending different chrome tools clattering across the floor. "Shit!" she yells. "Shit! What do we do now? There is no way we'd be able to fool the House of Teeth again. They're on the verge of declaring a street war with the House of Horns after the Ether incident."

The House of Horns.

My escape and the zoomer chase.

"The House of Horns has furyon," I say, making every head in the room whip in my direction. "We can siphon some out of the zoomers in their garage."

"Are you insane?" Macon is up on his feet now, crossing the distance between him and the group of us. His eyes flicker blue, as if the lightning inside is trying to rip its way out of him. My confidence shrinks slightly, making me feel so small, but I won't let him see. He's already seen too many of my fears, and his magic is not something I want added to that list.

"But..." Gidget says, her voice softening. "They want you dead. If they catch you—"

"They didn't catch me before, did they?" I try to seem optimistic. "I know their schedules. I know where the zoomers are. We can be in and out."

"A-a-a-nother heist?" Tiny sputters.

"In and out," I repeat. "It'll just be in and out."

#

There is more security surrounding the House of Horns than I remember, making me wonder what else has changed in the weeks I've been gone. Grit and Grubble usually guarded the entrance in the alley off Phoenix Street, but tonight they man the side doors leading to the garage. I watch the lorkin brothers through the lenses of the sleek tech-glasses Tiny gave us.

"I thought you said this would be in and out," Macon grumbles to my left.

"It was supposed to be." I zoom in on Grit and Grubble, taking note of the volters and guns decorating their belts. "But I wasn't expecting the tension between the Horns and Teeth to be this thick. They're strapped. I bet they even have on shock-proof vests on under their clothes."

"This puts a damper on things," Macon groans from the cement next to me. We both lay propped up on our elbows, in an abandoned, crumbling parking-garage on the small side street adjacent to Jojin's complex. We've been staked out for nearly an hour, waiting for something to change, but the lorkins remain at their posts as the loyal soldiers they are. Macon squirms restlessly like he is itching for a puff of a cigarette. "This is stupid," he mutters. "I'm tellin' you, we should just give this up."

His attitude is wearing me thin as cyberglass. "Of all the people who could've come with me, why'd it have to be you?"

"Gidget is blocking street cams and Tiny is too big, so we both know I was really the only option."

"I'd rather Zero come with me and he has no hands."

Macon sighs like I'm the problem.

"You're nothing but snarky and negative." I glare at him out of the corner of my eye. "Always hinting that we should just give up when you know that all we want is to win that race so we can get safely out of Voltyss. Isn't that what you want too?"

"Yeah it's what I want, Alyndra," he answers. "But wanting something doesn't always become a reality. It might be different on the Skyscape, where you elves seem to wish things into existence, but hope is a fickle thing on the Earthscape. Life here is actually complicated."

His words trigger something like a memory deep within me—small feet running over a cloud-wisped walk, a name being called in the distance, stars fading away as a little elf ripped through the wind on a freefall descent from the sky. No, not a memory. A reoccurring dream. I shake my head clear.

"Don't you dare tell me not to hope," I say, keeping my gaze forward on the garage instead of him. "It's all I have to keep going." I can't lay here any longer, waiting for something to change. Placing my hands on the cement, I lift myself back onto my knees.

"What are you doing?" Macon asks, eyes wide, pushing himself up onto his own knees. The sleeve of his jacket rides up his arm, revealing a sliver of the ebony scar he'd shown me back in that filthy bar. So much has changed since then.

"I'm getting the furyon. You can either come with me or stay here, but if you follow me, know that I won't be giving up and I will not be leaving the House of Horns empty-handed." Once on my feet, I adjust my backpack. Inside, the empty furyon tanks clink against each other, a reminder of the importance of this mission. Turning on my heel, I stride away and spare no glance behind me.

I go back through the way we came, sticking as close to the light as possible as I traverse the ramps leading down to the lowest level. Once my boots reach the sidewalk, I slip into the shadows of the empty street and cross. I hold my breath as I move, the darkness nearly enough to unravel me and blow my cover. As I near Grit and Grubble, their voices become clearer.

"Did you see that Clarx Bolton won the Ivory District's preliminary race?" Grit asks his brother.

"No surprise there," Grubble replies. "I think the whole thing is rigged."

"Nah, why would they rig it?"

"The Court isn't even allowing the Cobalt District to enter this year. Why do you think that is?"

This makes me pause. Luckily, we'd registered for the race in the Emerald District, but does Macon know this about his district? Is this what is bothering him? My chest tightens at my earlier judgement of him.

I dash to the far wall of the Horns' garage, pressing back against the stone until we nearly became one. Slow and fluid, like water trickling from a faucet, I move along the wall toward an unsuspecting Grit and Grubble. My fingers brush over the rough texture, grounding me in reality as the darkness surrounding me continues to try to break down my composure. Just a little farther and I'll be back in the light...but then I'll have to act quickly. I take another step and ready my palms by my volted knives, ignoring the way my stomach turns sour. I'd once fabled the idea that these two brothers might've cared for me. Can I really hurt them if it comes down to it? My throat tightens and I suck in a harried breath.

Grit and Grubble turn in my direction, their eyes landing on me in the shadow.

Shit.

I grip my knives and unsheathe them, my thumbs resting over the button to turn the violet volts on. Grit reaches for his gun and points it at me, pinning me where I stand while he reaches across his body for the small walkie attached to his shoulder. We both open our mouths to speak at the same time, but Grubble who interrupts us first.

"Alyndra?" Grubble asks, his voice quiet. "Is that you?"

My ears are hidden under my black wool hat, and my long white hair has been sheared and dyed purple, but I still can't change my face. I don't have the magic for that.

Grit drops his hand from the walkie and his mouth closes shut, but his gun remains pointed straight at me. "What are you doing here?" he asks, his voice low. "We're ordered to kill you on sight."

"Don't," I tell them. I quickly flick on the volts of my knives, the violet glowing around me. A faint buzz rises above the whip of the crisp wind—a warning. "I don't want to hurt you."

Grubble glances at the knives, then back at me. My gaze trails to his missing horn, reminding me of our shared trauma. The Nightstalker scars on my back tingle.

"I just want out of this city," I tell them both, though I speak directly to Grubble. "I just want to be free. I just want to be safe. You know I didn't ask for any of this. I only need one thing from inside that garage that you won't even miss. Let me pass, let me take what I'm owed."

"You know the Bounties are after you, right?" Grit asks. He lowers his gun as his words grind their way out through his teeth. "You won't be able to evade them forever."

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it," I answer, trying to hide the unease that creeps up my spine when he mentions the masked soldiers. If they catch me, they'll bring me straight to Jojin, unless the Ivory Court places their own bid. Then I'll never be free of this city stuck in the Night.

I lower my knives and turn off the volts. "Please."

Grubble studies me for a moment longer, then turns to his brother. "I think they need us at the front doors, Grit."

I receive a long side-eye from Grit, but he eventually turns away with his brother. "Well wishes, Alyndra," he says over his shoulder as they both walk away.

"Wish you well," Grubble says with a small wave.

Then they both disappear around the corner.

I don't have long.

I move forward to the garage door, but long fingers wrap around my wrist and pull me to a stop. Quickly, I spin around and jab my knife forward before I can see who has me. My knife stops only a feather's distance away from gutting the person in front of me.

"Careful with those things," Macon says, his voice hitching as he pulls away from my blade.

"I thought you were too much of a pixie to come along," I say, ripping my wrist from his grasp.

"Gidget would sick Zero on me if I came back without you," he says with a shrug. "I feel like keeping my limbs, thank you very much."

I cast one more glance at him before turning back to the garage door. "Don't get in the way."

Crouching down, I grab the bottom of the frame with the tips of my fingers and pull. The door slides up, white light spilling out into the street. I hike the door up just enough for Macon and I to roll under, then let it close shut behind us.

The garage is empty aside from the zoomers parked in perfect rows, stretching across the space. The place is pristine, glowing white compared to the grunge of Macon's garage behind the Bitbucket. I breathe in, the familiar scent of cleaning chemicals taking me back in time. My heart twists like a rusty screw in my chest.

This is where I left Venjo.

He'd risked everything to help me escape, and I'd left him behind at the mercy of his father. Yet as much as I want to sneak farther into the complex, seek him out, and find proof of his wellness, I have to remind myself that time is limited.

I creep to the nearest zoomer—Macon following close behind—and slide my pack from my shoulders. Dropping to my knees on the driver's side of the zoomer, I sit the bag down. The empty furyon tanks clink inside, the small sound echoing off the walls of the silent garage. Macon shushes me and I shoot him a glare over my shoulder. I unzip the backpack and pull out the slim jack I've seen Gidget use a over a dozen times when she needs to lift the zoomer to work on the undercarriage. My fingers won't be nearly as deft as hers, but I've practiced enough to at least move quickly.

I slide the jack behind the front wheel, making sure the arc in the middle lines up to meet the frame of the zoomer. Pressing the button on the end, I release a lever from the back and get to work pumping, the zoomer lifting click-by-click from the inflating jack.

Meanwhile, Macon arranges the two empty tanks and hose. I snatch the loose end of the hose, ready to pull it under the zoomer and slip it into one of the furyon containers attached to the undercarriage, but a sound stops me cold.

A door opens and closes on the far side of the garage, followed by two pairs of feet. The thud of boots and the click of heels. They echo off to the right.

Laying down the hose silently, I crawl forward, ignoring Macon's fingers as they brush against my back in an attempt to hold me back. I peer around the front bumper of the zoomer toward the sound of the footsteps.

"So this is the one you'll be racing with?" a feminine voice asks. I know who it is before my eyes fall on her jade hair and her white horns. Zuma walks into my line of vision, wearing a vibrant purple jacket, the same shade as the volts on my knives. I suddenly want to ask Gidget if she can tweak the color for me.

"It's the fastest zoomer we have," answers another deeper, darker voice. The same all work, no play growl I found myself missing and worrying over the past weeks. But what is Venjo doing talking so casually to Zuma, especially when she'd tried to cut off my ears? "Want to take it for a test drive with me?"

Venjo steps forward, closer to Zuma. His ebony horns and claws are jarring against the white walls and zoomer that he places one palm against. With his other hand, he reaches forward and wraps his fingers around the back of Zuma's neck, pulling her to him with one swift tug. She giggles in response, raking her ivory claws up his chest. When he kisses her, the floor seems to tilt beneath me and I lose my balance, my palms slapping against the smooth pavement.

The sound is nothing—barely even a sound at all—but Venjo freezes, then snaps his head in my direction. I flip myself around on the ground and press my spine against the zoomer's front tire. Even though I'm hidden, Venjo's steel gaze still pierces my back.

"Why don't you wait for me upstairs?" Venjo says quietly to Zuma. "I need to do some final touches on the zoomer I'll be racing with tomorrow in the Emerald Qualifier."

My ears pique. The zoomer he'll be racing with?

"Fine," Zuma sighs. The click of her heels echo away from them. "Don't keep me waiting too long."

A door opens and closes again, then silence falls, aside from Macon's quick breathing over my shoulder. His presence quickly reminds me of the terrible things that might happen if Venjo catches sight of him. It would've been convenient if I'd been gifted with invisibility, if only to save my ass from the repercussions of Venjo and Macon clashing in this garage.

"I know you're here, Alyndra." Venjo's voice nears as footsteps echoed closer, a duet that made my heart race faster. "I can smell you. You're lucky that Zuma didn't."