The dizziness had subsided by now, and so Micah had little difficulty darting across the room. The problem came when he reached the door. Even folded, his wings knocked into its frame, sticking when he tried to shove his way through. With a growl of frustration, he pulled back, rested a hand on the wall as he readjusted, and then edged through sideways, deliberately ignoring the way her gaze drilled into him.

"Those wings are going to be rather inconvenient," she said on a sigh.

He spun to face her, squaring his shoulders. "You're the one who made a stupidly narrow doorway."

She ignored him, turning aside. This room was a good deal bigger than the first, if still rather cramped: a cluttered wooden table accompanied by a single chair occupied the centre of the space, with a makeshift kitchen taking up the entire right side and cupboards crowded in above. The floor was no longer carpeted, but roughly tiled, leeching what little warmth there'd been in his feet. He shivered. At least the cuts seemed to have stopped stinging.

"I might have a coat big enough to hide them," she added, jerking his attention back towards her. She'd begun rummaging through the wardrobe leaning against the left wall. He caught only a glimpse of the array of fabrics piled up inside before she snapped the door shut, drawing out a beige bundle. It dropped out into a long coat similar to hers as she held it out to him.

He stared at it for a moment, curling his fingers around the single white strap of his tunic. "Hide them?"

She gave an impatient exhale, withdrawing the coat as she stalked around him. He stiffened as she thrust the sleeve over his arm, too late to pull away. "Unless you want a repeat of earlier?"

Micah gritted his teeth. He certainly didn't want that, but the sensation of fabric closing over his wings, pinning them uncomfortably against his back, was an unwelcome echo of crushing himself between slabs of marble ceiling. Although at least he'd chosen to do that.

Then again, that choice had led to him being dumped here, forced to squeeze inside a human coat, staying hidden in a different way. Maybe he needed to start considering his choices a tad more.

Had that really only been this morning?

The girl shoved on his other sleeve, wrestled with the buttons, and then stepped back into view, scrutinising him. "It's hardly perfect, but you're at least passable at first glance." Her eyes flicked downwards. "Mostly."

He followed her gaze and winced. The coat was very nearly long enough to conceal his tunic entirely, making his bare legs all the more obvious. Perhaps it was the way Duine's air nipped at his skin, the bitter breeze sweeping in a cold far greater than he was used to, but he longed all the more that he'd remembered to grab his trousers that morning. It wasn't a problem back home, when a simple tunic was all he really needed. Another reason to feel starkly out of place.

A pair of mud-coloured trousers were thrust into his hands, and he didn't hesitate to put them on this time. They were loose and baggy, roughspun fabric itching as he pulled them up under his tunic, but he at least felt a little warmer.

He glanced up to find the girl drawing another object from the wardrobe. Its shape was instantly recognisable. Black, stunted barrel, primed trigger. A pistol.

He stumbled back, hissing in a breath when his pinned wings bumped into the wall behind. He braced his hands against it instead, fear swelling in his chest, the vague shape of a defence clogged in his throat. Was she turning on him? Had he really been so stupid in trusting her?

She regarded him with narrowed eyes, then made her brisk way over. He shrank back, fingers curling over the doorframe behind as they shook.

She held the pistol out between them. Her finger wasn't even slotted into the trigger. He stared at it, dumbfounded.

It jerked. "Take this. You'll need it."

"I don't..." He swallowed, trying to calm the sudden pound of his heart. "I don't know how to use it."

"Then learn." She pressed it against his chest, forcing him to fumble to grab it. "Just don't aim it at me. Now, shall we go?"

He couldn't offer anything more than a shaky nod. Helplessness wormed in his stomach, twisting a tight knot. He didn't usually have this much trouble with words. It was startling how adept she was at leaving him speechless.

Curling as firm a hand as he could around the pistol's handle, he felt for his trousers, came across a pocket, and stuffed it inside. He sent a silent prayer to Asariel that he wouldn't have to bring it out again. Learning wasn't his favourite activity, particularly when it involved life and death.

She was already at the door, twisting the handle. The rifle glinted at her back. As he moved to follow, she tossed a glance back, and waved a hand at a dusty pair of sandals stacked haphazardly on top of one another by the opposite wall. "You can wear those as well. I don't have anything better."

Hurrying over, he obeyed. At least sandals were easy enough to slot on. She vanished through the door, and he dashed after her, anxious to be out in the open again. His wings were probably pinned tight enough that they'd fit through the doorway this time, but he still twisted sideways a little. He'd already embarrassed himself enough to risk it.

His flash of relief soon faded. This street was just as narrow as any of the others, the same battered grey splashed in faint blue light. The sky above had darkened to a dirty black. He wrapped his arms around himself, another shiver coming over him despite his warmer attire. Maybe this was why night never truly fell in Elysia. It was carved in the hardened curves of rock, stiff and suffocating, made to smother sound and crush all that lay beneath it.

"Do you have a name, scruffy?"

Heart jolting, he whirled. The girl threw him a careless glance, more focused on twisting a key into the door's slot.

"Yes," he said, hesitant, feeling for the back of his neck. "It's Micah. Do you?"

"Corinne," she said shortly, wrenching the key out. Her shoulder bumped his as she marched past. "Nice to meet you, Micah. Keep up."

He had no choice other than to hurry in her wake, a stab of fear breaking through at the idea of losing her in the dark. The lights slid off her navy coat as if shadows twined into its weave. It didn't help that his step quickly fell to an unsteady stumble, his wings too squashed to support him, the sandals slapping against his heels. He dug for his voice, desperate not to let the quiet drown him. "Can I call you Cori?"

Her eyes had dimmed again, shards of night that cut his way. "That's the same number of syllables. I don't see the point."

"It's more fun, though."

"It isn't my name."

She turned sharply, speeding up, and he lost the breath he might have used to reply in chasing after her. It was a wonder how she managed to move so effortlessly fast. Perhaps without wings to rely on, humans were forced to train their legs as substitutes.

When he nearly tripped on the lip of his sandal for what felt like the hundredth time, he began to wish he'd dedicated time to his own exercise. Merely keeping his footing was proving a struggle.

"How do you people get by without wings?" he muttered to Corinne, unable to keep his complaints to himself. "Don't you feel trapped down here?"

Her gaze drifted to the sky, her brow creasing. "I feel trapped all the time," she murmured. Then she shot him a wry glance. "But at least I can walk through doorways."

He tilted up his chin. "Maybe I'll walk sideways from now on. It wouldn't be an issue then."

Her abrupt snort of laughter made him jump. This time, he caught the barest edge of a smile, schooled back into a blank line in barely a second but enough to make a tiny jolt skip up his spine. Pride fizzed in its wake. It made no sense to be proud of extracting a simple smile from someone seemingly absent of humour, and yet some part of his mind was already wandering in search of a way to bring it back. It lit her eyes with sparks to rival flames.

Yet before he could grasp ahold of another thread, she halted, suddenly enough that he barely saved himself from toppling into her. Her arm stretched out, warding him back. "Stay here."

Her hand closed over her rifle's handle, sliding it to her front, a loop of dulled metal glinting as she loosened the strap enough to lift the weapon. Pointing it at the empty street before them, she advanced. He managed barely more than a couple seconds before the gloom swooped in around him and he scurried after her. Her eyes were cold as they flashed his way, but she said nothing more.

It took a moment before he realised what she'd heard. The low murmur of voices, drifting from the sidestreet up ahead. His hand twitched towards his pocket before he yanked it away, curling it into a useless fist.

Corinne paused just before the corner, a soft click reverberating as she shifted her grip on the rifle. The familiarity of the sound pulled Micah taut. He teased a handful of his new coat into his fist, squeezing it as if the simple action would rid him of the sour taste of fear. It settled too heavily on his stomach.

Abruptly, she whipped around to the left, rifle jabbed into the darkness of the alley. A yelp sounded, followed by scrambling feet and heavy breathing. In the quiet, it was easy to pick out the stream of wordless pleas that followed, all strangled by terror.

Corinne remained rigid. "Who are you?"

"Josephine!" The name hardly breaks through, riding on a shriek. Micah's heart hammered in his chest. He knew this feeling, this frozen fear of being pinned by a stranger with a gun, this drowning in panic. Bracing himself, he moved forward, enough to peer around the corner.

A woman stood in the middle of the alley, trembling hands out before her. Behind her, the distant streetlight dimly picked out a child, clinging to Josephine's hand as he cowered in her shadow. They truly did look small. The image of Siofra lunged into Micah's mind.

He whipped towards Corinne, an odd urge tumbling desperation through his veins, but before he could say anything, Josephine sucked in a deep breath. "I--I'm no-one. Please, I can get you money. Just let--"

"I'm not after money." Something shifted in Corinne's expression. Slowly, the action stiff with caution, her rifle lowered. "Do you live near here?"

"I..." Josephine blinked, her breathing still ragged. She opened her mouth again soundlessly.

"Do you live near here?" Corinne repeated. Her tone hadn't lost that interrogative sharpness, but Micah watched her arms relax, her finger sliding from her trigger. Relief twitched in his faint smile.

"I can walk you home," she added. "You clearly need it. If I'd truly been out to hurt you, you'd be dead already. Never scream, and never give them your name."

Josephine gave a jerky nod, visibly swallowing. Her shoulders sagged. "Thank you."

Corinne merely pressed her lips together. "Lead the way."

Placing a guiding hand on the child's back, Josephine hurried out into the street, casting a nervous glance at Corinne as she passed. Her eyes widened as they slipped to Micah as if noticing him for the first time. He did his best to smile and offered an awkward wave, which seemed enough to settle her wariness. The child's stare lingered longer, his mouth hung half-open, only broken when Josephine gave him a prompting nudge and he let her wrapping arm tug him away.

Micah didn't dwell on it. His focus had settled on Corinne, the way her gaze tracked both of them with careful precision. A warmth built up in his chest, flaring with the same spark he'd felt at that hint of her smile. As she started off after them, he made sure to stay at her side, shooting her a bright grin.

"You are a nice person after all," he remarked.

She kept watching the street ahead, speeding so that she walked directly behind Josephine. "I never said I wasn't."

"You don't act like it though." He tilted his head, trying to catch her eye. A familiar lightness he hadn't realised had been missing began to bear him on false feathers, not as freeing as the real wings lashed against his back but enough to send him prancing forward on the balls of his feet. "You act all mean and cold."

She huffed, granting him a brief glance before returning to scanning the shadows. "I saved your life, didn't I?"

He scratched at his hair. "I guess you did." Another, sudden string of curiosity tugged him a little closer to her, his voice dropping. "You said never give your name. Why did you give me yours, then?"

"Because you're not going to hurt me." Grabbing his shoulder, she shoved him back a tad. "Now shut up and let me focus."

Given that her focus was ensuring no-one lynched them from the darkness, he complied, although his smile lingered. The night draped Duine in metallic sheets, lit pools of sapphire glowering at them from every other turn, the only sound gravel crunching under boots and sandals, and yet a strange kind of peace bloomed within Micah. He tracked the gentle sway of Corinne's dark hair, rubbing a hand over his mouth to block the bubble of a laugh.

Maybe he was going delirious from exhaustion, his desperate mind conjuring up things that didn't exist. Or maybe humans weren't only capable of violence after all.

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Wordcount: 2367

Total Wordcount: 15046

This chapter kinda decided to just exist with little plot but that's okay. Corinne finally offered up her name, which is nice. And Micah has trousers!! All is well with the world now.

I mean, he probably looks stupid in that coat, but that's fine--

- Pup