I make it two blocks before three white zoomers are on my tail, snaking in and out of traffic to catch up to me. The sleek metal bodies of all the vehicles reflect against the neon lights, turning the busy street into a sea of shimmering stars, an easy distraction to the wandering eye. But I must remain focused. I honk the horn on the steering wheel, blaring a warning signal for drivers to move out of the way. Lights, buildings, and giant mediascreens blur past slowly even though I'm blazing down the street.

My arms are heavy and slightly delayed when I swerve left and right around zoomers in my path. I'm lucky that the null of Nether doesn't drag me down too far, and instead slows the world down just enough for me to use it to my advantage. I angle the wheel to the left just in time, dodging between two wide freight zoomers with the infinite symbol of the tech-human Court plastered on the sides of the long trailers. I earn a honk from the freight driver as I cut him off, but my maneuver has put a barrier between the me and the Horns...for now.

I take a deep breath, releasing some of the pressure I'd put on my spine and shoulders from sitting so rigidly straight, and let myself sink into the padded seat. The rumble of the zoomer's engine riles a wave of nostalgia within me, reminding me of my drives as a lightrunner and a life I won't get back. I don't want it back, but regret still lingers like a bad taste in my mouth. Even though my membership to the House of Horns was a forced one, it had quickly become a comfort I used to combat the emptiness inside of me—an emptiness that will soon return once I evade the lorkins chasing me.

I furiously wipe away a tear threatening to spill over my cheek and try to clear my head as I press my foot farther into the pedal, pushing the zoomer over the speed limit invoked by the Court. I spare a glance in my rearview mirror and spy the first white zoomer as it charges onto the streetwalk, driving around the two freights to get to me. People scatter frantically out of the way, barely avoiding impact, hugging the store fronts as the other two white zoomers follow quickly behind. Traffic starts to cluster in front of me, making it nearly impossible to zig-zag through without slamming into civilian zoomers surrounding me.

Dread sweeps through me. I'm not going to make it. They'll close in on me, trapping me in traffic, binding me to this fate.

A lit sign posted above the street blinks at me, the words and the pointing arrow catching my attention.

CRESCENT CROSS—TURN RIGHT.

The bridged skyway that arches high above the streets, cutting straight between the towering buildings, connects the opposite ends of the city. Because it is typically less congested, I often used the bridge when I made weapon runs between the Amethyst, Emerald, and Ivory Districts. Never the Cobalt District.

Then it hits me. Of course. The Cobalt District.

I jerk the wheel to the right, pushing the zoomer into overdrive as I speed up the ramp to Crescent Cross. I'm going to deliver the lorkins to the one thing they want more than me—Macon Falcove.

One of the white zoomers hits me from the back, jolting me forward.

If I survive the drive there.

I merge onto the skyway, tires skidding as I try to keep the zoomer from spinning out of control. The glowing, pulsing force field encasing the skyway tilts and blurs as I rock back and forth—enough to make my stomach roll over. Evening out the steering wheel, I straighten my leg until the pedal is pushed down to the floor and I reach for the furyor-oxide blast trigger on the dashboard. I press the button, whooshing back into the driver's seat as the zoomer shoots forward. Blue flames flare from the dual-exhaust pipes. Light smears in neon streaks outside the windows.

For a brief moment, I am exhilarated. My body is flying, my mind still moving slow. I sigh, but then my gaze connects with my rearview mirror again, and I see the Horns using their own furyon blasts to catch right back up to me.

Shit.

I narrow my eyes, looking closer as something rises out of their passenger side window. Then I realize it's one of them hanging out of the white zoomer and he is aiming a big gun straight at me. I hear the boom of the daybreaker before the ball of orange fire blazes past my right, taking the side-view mirror with it.

Double shit.

He shoots again and I swerve to the left, watching as the fireball flies by, nearly hitting one of the few zoomers traveling the skyway. I race around the driver with the three white zoomers close on my tail. Another boom. This one explodes against the back window. Shards of glass propel through the zoomer, cutting my arms, burying into my hair. Flames lick toward me from behind and smoke scratches my nose and throat.

I cough, eyes watering. White fills my peripherals and I glance left then right to see two of the Horns roll up next to me. A quick glance in the mirror and the third lingers behind, the lorkin who'd been shooting at me reloading his daybreaker. The pedal is to the floor and I'm speeding as fast as possible. There's no escaping them as the zoomers press in on me, boxing me in. Metal collides on both sides of me, scraping, screaming in my ears. Sparks fly in showers.

I'm struck with a wicked idea. Something I've always wanted to do when other zoomers ride my tail too close.

I slam on the brakes.

The two Horns on either side of me continue on and riccochet into each other. I duck down in my seat, covering the back of my head with my hands as I brace for the impact of the zoomer behind me. They try to swerve out of the way, tires squealing as the zoomer fishtails violently before rolling onto its side. It careens into my zoomer, whiplash slamming my shoulder into the door, then sails over the top in a spinning arc. Landing on its roof, it skids across the skyway, leaving black streaks on the in its wake.

One down.

I can't breathe for a moment. My legs are still weak, but now an ache seeps through me.

I'm tired—so tired. But I can't stop now.

I grip the steering wheel again, huffing and puffing. The other lorkins are stopped, windows down, shouting directions at each other. A daybreaker points in my direction and my foot is at the pedal again. My eyes flick to the refilled furyon-oxide meter, and I'm gone just as the boom sends fire in my direction.

I'm racing over the skyway again, heart flying, stomach falling.

I pass an exit ramp to the Emerald District. The purple lights of the Amethyst District below fade and the green lights of the of the city blocks belonging to the House of Teeth and the Duskers radiate up. I don't have much farther to go until I reach the blue lights of the Cobalt District and Macon Falcove.

Another quick glance behind me and I see the two other white zoomers, damaged but still on four wheels, rejoining the chase. But they're a safe enough distance and my heart settles the slightest. They follow behind and we continue on as cats and mouse until the green lights below shift to blue and I pull off onto the exit ramp, slowing as I reach the bottom.

The zoomer drifts when I turn left onto the city street, whirling up smoke and burnt rubber. Pedestrians' shrieks pilfer in through the shattered rear window as my chasers follow close behind. We cut through drivers again—me as carefully as possible, them reckless and desperate.

Not too much farther.

I'm bumped from behind and my left side crashes into the lane barrier separating going from oncoming traffic. The sound reaches my soul, the impact tearing the door away. Sparks fly onto me, singeing my hands, burning my hair. I pull away and speed back up just before one of the Horns rolls close enough to slam me back. They clip the edge of my bumper, sending me fishtailing for a moment before I can straighten out the wheel.

I take the nearest right turn, recognizing the buildings on the corner of the block.

Almost there.

The red lights of The Bitbucket blink in the near distance and in my relief, I don't pay my rearview mirror any attention. If I would've, I'd have seen the lorkin aiming his daybreaker at my zoomer. Maybe I would've swerved out of the way instead of slowing up in front of the Starfox bar.

The boom of the daybreaker blast gives me a moment to shield myself, and I curl into a ball in my seat. The ball of fire bursts into the headrest of the passenger seat, the force of the explosion pushing me from my zoomer, through the spot where the door used to be.

I hit the pavement hard, my body bouncing off the ground, trashing and rolling to stop as the pavement rips my skin, bruising and twisting my bones. The two Horn's zoomers whoosh past me, following my zoomer as it continues on, tires burning streaks into the street as they try to stop.

Warmth cascades down the side of my left face in rivulets. I glance down, blood blinding my eye, dripping from my jaw onto the black pavement. I rise to my knees as the sounds of zoomer doors being shut reaches my ears. I don't look at them. Instead, I rise to my feet on wobbly knees, my eyes never leaving the doors of The Bitbucket.

Come on.

It hurts. Everything hurts. My legs, my arms, my heart, my soul.

Come on.

"Little Elf!" one of the lorkins yells. I recognize Yavo's voice. I see his twisted smile and golden spiky hair in my mind. "It's over!"

But it's not over. It's not over until I can't move anymore.

I trip as I take two steps toward the doors of the Bitbucket. I scramble to catch my footing.

"What are you gonna do, Little Elf?" Yavo yells again. "Run forever? Give up!"

Then the doors swing open and Macon Falcove steps out onto the sidewalk with the most perfect damn timing the world has ever seen. His black hair flops to one side, his leather jacket replaced with a simple white shirt. His eyes fall straight to me and his jaw drops, his smoking cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Isn't that the mage?" one of the other lorkins yells.

"Falcove!" Yavo screams. "You're a dead man!"

"Get him!"

Macon glances at the lorkins, then back at me, but I'm already shuffling away toward the alley. I raise my middle finger at him, cursing him under my breath, and the sly fox actually smiles back at me. He winks, and his eyes are suddenly lightning, glowing and swimming with electricity. He turns to the lorkins and his tattoos come to life, the black patterns shifting to blue as they sway and curl like they're blowing in the wind. Electricity crackles in the air as I stagger to the alley.

The sounds of their fight carries behind me, a symphony of lightning and explosions. The Mercs will be here soon, paid by the Court to diminish the chaos. I can't be here when they show up. If the Court finds out about me, then I'll be trapped as someone's treasure all over again.

My bleeding hands find the stone wall, and I use it for support as I move farther away from the destruction reaping the street. The alley stinks like rot, the smell growing stronger with each heavy step I take. My legs feel like they're sinking into the pavement, and I almost wish that the ground would open up and swallow me whole, just so that I can rest for five minutes.

I don't know how long I drag myself through the backalleys of the Cobalt District. The booms of the daybreakers and the cracks of lightning fade away, stopping once the Merc trucks rumble through the streets. It could have been hours or minutes by the time my legs give out completely and I crumble to the littered ground, sprawled out on my stomach, my limbs outstretched like I'm a dying star. The pavement is rough and filthy beneath the right side of my face, yet in my exhaustion, it's a pillow for my soul.

My eyes burn, threatening to close, but if I take one moment of rest I might not get back up. A sob wrenches itself from my throat, echoing off the stone walls.

This will be the rest of my life. Running and hiding and destruction in my wake. I can't take it, I can't face it because I know who I am. I'm a bird made of glass with the will to fly but a heart to break. One more crack and I'll shatter.

Then across the alley, discarded next to a trash bin, is a small, cracked media screen. I don't know how I didn't see it before, but now I can't look away from it. It blinks, casting a flickering aura against the surrounding scraps. Something inside of me screams to find out what is on the screen. I half-crawl, half-drag myself the few feet to the media screen and swipe away a crumpled bag blocking the right side of the picture.

An ad plays on the screen, showcasing images of the zoomers speeding down the city streets and over Crescent Cross, trails from furyon-blasts tailing behind them in streaks of blue. The camera stops panning through the city, holding still on a frame of the Ivory District, white lights painting a pearl glow on the street and surrounding buildings.

Then a zoomer drives straight at the camera before turning to the side, drifting to a stop, tire smoke rising from the pavement. I recognize the sleek silver paint with the infinite symbol on the side of the door and the golden yellow glow cast onto the pavement from under the zoomer. Lights flash from the sidewalks as the man exits the zoomer, civilians and paparazzi taking pictures of the famed champion of the Court's annual Race for Light.

Clarx Bolton.

His right arm and right side of his face are robotronic, having lost the human pieces in a nearly fatal wreck five years ago. He hasn't lost a race since. He leans against his zoomer—paid for in full by the Court as the favored racer of the Ivory District—his arms crossed, red robotic eye blinking at the camera. Even on the brink of blacking out, I still cringe when I see him.

This son of a bitch. Grinning. Swimming in shinies. Basking in the glory of a championship handed to him by the elites living in the richest district in the city at the end of the world.

It's in this moment of loathing that I'm struck with an idea, inspiring a feeling I haven't felt in a long time—hope. Fire grows in my belly, warming my cold limbs, fueling my heart and my drive.

I'm not running anymore.

This is not going to be my life.

I don't know how I'll do it, but I'm going to enter the Race for Light with a zoomer of my own and beat Clarx, the Court, Jojin. Whoever I have to. However I have to. I'm going to win. And with the prize, I'll buy my freedom from the House of Horns. I will live in peace again.

A weak smile plays at the corner of my lips. A resolution. A purpose. It's what I didn't know I needed. I breathe a sigh of relief and sag into the pavement.

My moment dissipates when a shadow passes in front of me and a wet rag is shoved against my nose, warping my senses. It smells like mud. I roll onto my back, eyes scanning the alley as my vision spots.

A girl stands over me, rag dangling from her fingers. Her dark curly hair is pulled away from her delicate, light brown face which twists with guilt when she looks down at me. "I'm sorry about this," she says as the world begins to fade away. "It'll be easier to move you if you're asleep."

"Please," I say with the last bit of strength I have left. "Don't hurt me. I can't—I can't take anymore."

The girl crouches down beside me. I don't know if it's the Nether, my current state, or if it's actually real, but I swear a white wolf licks the girl's cheek.

"Don't worry," she says, reaching around the wolf and snuggling it under her chin. "We're here to help."

Then the shadows of the alley reach out with the softness of a feather, draping over my broken body, and lull me into the first peaceful sleep I've had in months.