Hi! To celebrate my stint as an Editor's Pick last month -- and surpassing 5k reads during that time -- I thought I'd put together a bonus chapter as a thank you for all the attention. This is set a short time before the events of the book and provides a little insight into Kasper's backstory, aka our slightly tragic science kid. I had a blast with his narration. He's fun.

Also the words kind of piled up so I apologise for its length. But I hope you enjoy all the same :D

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The gun was nothing special. A simple, decade-old pistol, painted the colour of dust, its edges catching on the moonlight that cut through the slatted window in sharp silver. In a way, it appeared at home on the beaten worktop. Perhaps if Kasper concentrated hard enough, he could pretend that it was a kitchen implement as harmless as a spoon or a whisk. It seemed a more comforting delusion than reality.

What part would a gun play in cooking? His fingers tapped an incessant rhythm on the wooden surface as if they could type out the answer in morse code. His bouncing knee knocked into the plinth to provide a beat.

Could it stir stew? In an industrial-sized bowl, maybe. Its barrel was too fat to be of much use.

He cast a senseless glance at the empty shelves. It was fortunate the kitchen's musty air twisted so sickeningly with the anxiety knotting his insides, or the thought of stew might have spurred a murmur from his stomach. As it was, bile rose to the back of his throat instead.

He swallowed it, his lips pressing together. The hours of the evening had slid by like sludge, but night finally sat clad in black outside. He needed to move, now.

In a hasty jerk of a movement, he shoved himself off his stool, snatched up the gun, and fled towards the door.

The cold air hit him like a tram. It hadn't been much warmer inside, but the wind was thin enough to rattle in his bones. Wrapping his spare arm around his chest, futile as it was, he broke into a jog.

Fast, he urged himself. If nothing else, he'd always been quite skilled at being fast, moving swift enough that he could stay unnoticed without really trying. His mother used to joke that he'd make a good spy. He hoped he was doing her proud now, much as he winced at the thought.

Spy. Assassin. The two could merge for tonight.

The gun weighed in his hand, a prickly lump of metal that bit into his palm and ached against his joints no matter how much he fidgeted with it. If he wasn't careful, he was going to press the trigger prematurely by accident. Unfortunately, the lightning threads of energy that lent him speed also had a tendency to twitch in every inconvenient muscle, and his nerves were having a field day right now. His head buzzed. Any moment now, he might spontaneously combust.

"Focus," he murmured as he dodged from one street to the next, eyes darting upwards to track the outline of buildings beyond. He had to focus. He didn't want to think about what would happen if he failed.

Another turn, and it loomed into view, piercing the sky with the grace of a knife dipped in ink. Its sparse windows winked at him, gleaming as darkly as the evil that dripped from the tower's every shadowed edge. Curling his fingers over the bricks of the corner he peered around, he allowed himself a brief, rushing surge of anger, one that granted him the glare he focused on the tower. If only he could somehow snap the building in two. Maybe if he had a big enough laser, he could achieve it. It was a pity teenage boys from the slums weren't allowed the equipment to craft their own lasers.

Focus. It wasn't the tower at fault, but its core, the name that leaked off it and rained fluid fear on the streets around it. The name belonged to a person. And people would topple just fine with a well-placed bullet.

Kasper had seen it enough times from a distance to know how easy it could be.

He pushed off from the corner and broke into a sprint.

Faint red lights streamed from the uppermost windows, harsh enough to make him duck his head and increase his pace. Many referred to Khalida Rajan's lackeys as shadows for the way they slid unseen and pounced from every dark spot of the city. As Kasper skidded into the tower's brickwork and flattened himself against it, he couldn't help the delight that curled in the form of a bubbling grin. It was rather pleasing to retaliate using the very same skills his enemies took pride in.

He searched the street around. All he saw were closed curtains, houses succumbing to the darkness the tower cast. No-one was watching. Pinning his grin in place as a kind of good luck charm, he tucked the gun as carefully as possible into the makeshift belt band he'd manufactured and flipped around to face the wall.

The stone was smooth, the bricks laid carefully so that there wasn't a thing to grab. But he knew that already, and he'd come prepared. From another sewn-on patch in the inside of his sleeve, he pulled out the result of the last few months' work. Two identical rods, complete with grips his hands each slotted into and a carefully-engineered suction device at one end. He'd tested them plenty of times, but now that he stood here doing it, the panicked flutter of doubt toyed with his heartbeat. Holding his breath, he lifted one rod and rested it against the stone at his head's height.

Instantly, he felt the jerk as the device engaged. When he gave it a sharp yank, it stayed, solid as rock. It was only when he pressed his little finger into a button on the side of the rod did the device loosen and come away with his tug.

Excitement jittered through him with twice the force as his fear. He hopped on the spot, a shiver of glee travelling through his limbs. He shouldn't celebrate early, but he couldn't help it, not with all he'd achieved. Breathing in a deep lungful of air in a vain attempt to calm himself, he activated the suction device again and began to climb.

The rods attached to his shoes were of a similar make, but their force far less powerful. He hadn't been able to figure out a way to make a button that was easily pressable by his feet, and so instead had compromised with suction that worked temporarily, but would come away with enough of a pull without need for deactivation. It had felt an easy solution at the time, but with every careful step he edged upwards, regret spilled like hot coffee that burned his insides. Everything was so unsteady. He had to focus on pushing his weight into his upper body, because when he attempted to balance on his feet, the rods gave way and he was left dangling by his arms until he mustered the strength and courage to right himself again. His heart thumped with the haste of an antsy drum. He didn't dare look down. He knew the sight would cripple him.

One window passed. Two. He didn't know exactly how high up Khalida's quarters would be, but it was better to strike too high and drop down than not high enough.

Three. Sweat dripped from his forehead. The strain in his arms was agony. His grin was long gone now, surrendered to gritted teeth and sharp inhales.

Just beneath the fifth window, he lost his footing for the countless time, and his energy drained to his toes. For several seconds, he simply hung there, panting for breath, clinging to the rods even as his fingers begged for release. It would be easy to let go. The electric twitch skittering over his skin encouraged it.

He closed his eyes, the sudden, tilting urge to vomit surging through him. No. No, come on.

He swallowed hard, his throat aching. You have to do this, he scolded himself. For Mother. You can't give up, or everything she did was pointless.

You can't give up, or you might as well die.

He lifted a leg and shoved it against the wall. Somehow, the other followed suit. He looked up at the window, its shining, night-splashed glass. Five wasn't high enough, but he couldn't go any further. He clearly hadn't accounted for his own scrawny build during his careful planning.

With a shaky sigh, he dragged himself up the final couple steps and clambered onto the outside ledge. The wind howled at his back and buffeted his shirt, dirty brown strands of hair flying over his eyes. It was a good thing he was too tired and too scared to be cold anymore.

Keeping one suction device pressed to the side of the window, he spun the other around. Unlike the first rod's plain, rounded end, this one had the blade of a knife fastened to it, bound tightly in place by several scraps of tape. A real kitchen tool that had come to his aid. It wasn't as sharp as knives could be, but he hoped it would be enough. His ragged breathing blended with the wind as he edged along the windowsill and plunged it into the sealant that glued glass to brick.

It took several hesitant slashes, but eventually he spied the split and dug the knife's point into it. It took effort. He leaned in until his shoulder pressed into the glass, air rasping in his throat, gripping his device tighter. Come on.

With another shove, the knife wedged fully in the gap. Without wasting any time, he began jerking it two and fro, pushing it against the edge of the glass, until slowly, surely, he saw the gap begin to widen. A smile flickered over his lips, too thin to be any kind of victory just yet. He levered it in further and kept going, pulling and pulling, until finally he dared to push his hand through. His knuckles grazed the glass, but slid out the other side. Shifting, he flipped his hand around, grabbed the window, and yanked with his own force.

A hiss sliced between his teeth. His arms really were getting a workout tonight. By the time the space was wide enough to step through, they felt as if they might drop off at any moment. Yanking his devices along with him, he stumbled inside and promptly collapsed.

His chest heaved, his lungs caught alight, their fire ravaging his insides. Every muscle had turned to limp rubber. He flopped onto his back and stared up at the flat, white ceiling until it began to spin.

I did it. The thought bounced weakly around his head, buoying his lips. He'd made it.

Not quite, urged another voice, one that drifted his attention to the gun that rested on his hip. He breathed out a long, shaky sigh.

By some miracle, he succeeded in clambering to his feet, the devices slipping back into his sleeves, the gun slotting into his hand once more. His grip on it trembled. The room he found himself in contained rows of shelves, the lower ones packed with crates, the ones above those containing lined tins. Food storage. Swallowing hard, he edged closer, until his fingers skimmed the lowest row of tins. Soup, maybe. If he had pockets big enough, he'd steal as many as he could.

But he didn't have time for that. Pulling himself away, he headed straight for the door and shoved it open, thrusting the gun out in front of him. Yet all was quiet. The hall lay empty.

Battling to steady his breathing, Kasper ventured into the predatory silence.

He winced at every footstep. He did his best to imagine himself as a feather, lithe and light with each step softly soundless, devoid of the painful peel of an echo. Just a sneaking, innocent little feather drifting along the corridors of blood-red walls and snarling shadows. An innocent feather with a gun. He bit down sharply on his tongue, the ridiculous bubbled-up rise of laughter shockingly abrupt and hard to keep down. His hands shook and his stomach sifted, sour with fear, and yet his lips curled in a silly half-repressed smile. Perhaps this place inspired insanity.

Or maybe he was being childish. He paused at the corridor's corner, shoulder shoved up against the wall and gun cradled close, as he slowly but surely worked the smile into a hard-set frown. He couldn't be a child today. This city, his home, had forced him to be more than that, and now it was time he showed it just what a boy forced to grow up too fast was capable of.

It was time he showed her.

His exhale came out slow and loose, untangling his anxiety and leaking poised calm into the air around him. He straightened his spine, squared his shoulders and took his next step.

Instead of emptiness, a pair of arms swallowed him.

The air was crushed from his lungs. The pounding warmth of another's chest pressed against his back, flooding through him in sticky, roiling waves. He kicked and flailed and tried to shout, but a ragged cloth clamped over his nose and mouth, cutting off whatever the chaotic string of words might've been. They flowed around his mind instead in dazed circles, over and over and over. Let go of me. Let go. Let go.

I can't be caught, not by them. No. Let go.

Thick, muggy spices seeped in through his nostrils, clouding his mind, inflicting drowsiness. His heart beat frantically in argument. Holding his breath, driven by instinct and hot, thudding, feral terror, he opened his mouth and snapped his teeth around a large fold of the cloth, driving his heel backwards as he did so until it connected with something hard.

His head was floating, balanced upon mist, his senses clogged with airy scents. The world and his movements blurred. He only knew that he was squirming, fighting for his life, and then he was free, feet flat on the floor and whirling around, gun still in his hand, hope a prideful, tantalising tingle on his tongue.

Dangerous. This was dangerous. He felt cocky and ridiculous and he swayed. But he was alive and he was free.

He spat the cloth onto the floor at his feet and gulped in a beautifully fresh lungful of oxygen. The black spots assaulting his vision still fought, but could be repelled by a few rapid blinks. Beyond them, the shape of a man loomed, broadly set and twice as tall.

Kasper lifted his gun in both hands and fired.

Blood sprayed, a scarlet fountain. The bullet had skimmed the man's shoulder. Not good enough. Make them pay, make them die. His legs were quivering jelly beneath him as he tightened his jaw, squinted his eyes until focus came, adjusted his aim. You can't give up.

If not for the static in his ears, he would've heard the second shadow materialise behind him. He should've heard. It all flooded in at once when the pain came.

His arm twisted. A splintered cry tripped from his mouth, raking through him with the ferocity of an electric razor run wild. His nerves whimpered and his bones creaked and his bicep tensed against the awfully unnatural bend. Feeling retreated from his fingers. Desperate, he tried to curl them tighter around his gun, but they were limp and useless as noodles. His precious weapon was plucked easily from his grip, and hope sank. Dread's dark fluid settled in the pit of his stomach.

His heart cracked several beats of thunder before he found his voice. It came out a note too high, trembling rather than rasping through the gap in his teeth. "Let go of me."

The olive-skinned hand curled around his wrist twitched, a cold thumb roughing his skin as his arm bent a little further towards breaking. His body knew it. Aches sprawled and itched, shooting up the limb in firework sparks. He hissed in a sharp breath.

"One more word," a voice came -- female yet pitched low, a rolling growl of a threat -- "one more move, and I break it. You understand?"

He swallowed hard and bit his tongue. No words. He forced a slow, jerky nod.

A bout of dizziness rolled over him, phantom fingers briefly pulling him from his body and twirling him around as if to present to him the extent to which he'd messed up. He was caught. He'd been stupid, just like all the others, stupider even, and now he was going to die. Tonight. Tonight he would die. He would never see the sun again or eat again or fidget and tinker with scrap metal. He hadn't even made it to Khalida Rajan. He would never get to tell her of all that she'd done, all that he despised her for. She would never know.

The tears fell silently, clogging his throat with a gasping sob he was too afraid would earn him punishment. I'm sorry, Mother.

"We kill him, then?"

The intruding voice belonged to the man, the one Kasper had shot. He had a hand pressed to his wound but was otherwise horribly, sickeningly fine. He barely looked fazed. What a useless endeavour this had been.

A shove from his back forced Kasper to stumble forward. "Only if the boss wants it," the woman behind him said, like the concept of murder was a mundane task, a shrug of a job.

The man sighed. "Good luck."

He was gone before Kasper could fully register how close he was. The woman prodded him again. "Walk."

With his life suddenly as feeble as a spider's thread in the wind, Kasper simply obeyed.

He hated every step. He hated obedience, the way this felt like willingly walking to his execution. He wanted to wriggle and scream and fling his fists until he could claim freedom again, but fear had a dominating presence, a weight in his veins, dragging his head into a subdued bow and his feet in their onward shuffle. Much as images of perfect rebellion flitted through his mind, he was too afraid to carry them out. Fear's barked orders filled his ears instead, painfully still and stony, slowing the moments and peeling the lightning dance from his skin until it felt ashen. Guilt squeezed his gut and the tears began to sting.

His shoulder was barged into a door, and hinges creaked, swinging open. The woman threw him down, a kick to his ankle yanking his legs from under him. Cold, scratching brick thunked into his hip as he landed. He sat up, aimlessly frantic, but the door was already banging shut. His captor had left without a word.

Kasper knew he was nothing, was well aware that no-one left in this city cared for him, but the coldness of the action drove deep into his chest. The very air and its companion darkness smothered him, blocking out the rest of the world. It felt lonely. It smelled like failure.

He'd toiled through a whole afternoon to dig his mother's grave, but there was no-one left to do the same for him. He would simply rot away. He curled his knees close and began to mourn.

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Kasper didn't sleep. Hours slithered by in lazy, sludge-filled rivers; they meandered past him and lapped at his sides until he was sure he was drowning. And yet he was stuck, stiff and alert and staring endlessly at the red light seeping through the crack beneath the heavy door.

At some point, the cold got to him. It seeped through his thin clothing and glazed his skin, wracking him with jarring shivers, until his fingers drummed and his leg shifted back and forth and he had no choice but to get up. His joints creaked as he did so. The faint light illuminated his misting breath as if it were his own rushing blood, fleeing from his mouth and evaporating into coiling crimson wisps.

The door had no handle, but he pushed at it anyway, dashing from one edge to the other in each failed attempt to prise it open. He even tried charging his shoulder into it, but all that earned was a sharp jolt of pain.

Eventually, he succumbed to pacing. The room was tiny, allowing for a maximum of four brisk steps before it ended, but it kept him occupied all the same, wheeling back and forth and back and forth until he was dizzy and detached from his own body. At least it shook some of the chill from his bones.

Impatience thrummed through him. If they were going to kill him, he almost wished they'd just do it. The wait was agonising. The fear tangled and twisted with every thought.

Perhaps he'd waste away in this room, gathering dust, tasting the slow, eking death as it wormed steadily through his insides. His hands jittered, and he threw his knuckles against the nearest wall, wincing as the rough brick drew blood. The darkness closed in, more suffocating with every second that passed. He'd lose his sanity in here before he lost his life. He beat on the wall again, every bit of him shaking, his lungs aching despite the haste with which he took in air. Maybe fear really was liquid, and he would drown.

The door slammed open.

With a shallow gasp, Kasper whirled around, back thumping into the wall behind him. The long fingers of light that streamed in were blinding. For a moment, the woman was nothing more than a maroon silhouette before his vision began to adjust and his chest squeezed even tighter.

"Good morning," Khalida Rajan began, nestling against the doorframe while one arm stretched to keep hold of the door. Her smile was eerily casual. "I hear someone broke in last night?"

Her airy confidence grated against Kasper's nerves. He curled his fists, heart hammering beneath a hot flood of fury.

She didn't seem fazed in the slightest. She rolled her eyes, almost petulant, like this was a chore, and hooked her foot around the door to tug in half-closed as she strode inside. "Oh, don't be boring and quiet about this." Her smile leapt buoyantly back into view within the instant. "Tell me! I'm so eager to hear about how you did it. No-one ever makes it this far. And with a gun, too! Thrilling, it must've been." She clapped her hands together, light on her heels like an excitable child, before cupping her chin with a hand. Her eyes gleamed dark as the shadows and bright with eager impatience.

Somehow, the entire display unsettled him more than anything else could. A thousand insects crawled down Kasper's spine as his mind raced. There had to be some reasoning behind this, didn't there? She wanted to know how he'd gotten in so she could find the crack in her security. It was an act to get what she wanted. It had to be. Khalida Rajan was always plotting, always evil and planning out torment. She craved power and the suffering of others. Logicless as that was, she did it well.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, taking his time over moulding the snap in his voice. "I'm not telling you anything."

Her expression dropped into a frown. "You really are boring. I was looking forward to this, you know." She folded her arms, leaning into the doorframe's corner. "At least tell me your name."

There was no harm in her knowing that. She needed to know. "Kasper."

That earned a tiny smile. "How old are you, Kasper? Sixteen?"

"Fourteen." His voice fell quiet but determined.

She gasped, eyes filling with glee. "A young genius. Or just luck?" She blew out a sigh. "I really am curious, Kasper. What were you planning? Thievery? Arson? Something fun?"

He pressed his teeth together, the growl rolling from his throat automatically. "I came to kill you."

Her smile stuttered. "Oh."

"Weren't expecting that?" Acid sloshed in his aching stomach, burning his throat and spilling out as venom into his words. Satisfaction bubbled very distantly within it. Perhaps it was worth something to have caught her off guard, even if it had given him no advantage in the end.

Khalida blew out a sigh and tilted her head back, studying the ceiling. "I learn to expect it these days, but even so I like to hope otherwise. It saddens me." Her expression was a child's depiction of sadness: frown stretched unnaturally low, bottom lip stuck out, light bouncing oddly off her eyes in a way that almost papered over the dark threat simmering within them. Almost. "You'd think I was some kind of tyrannical overlord. Really, Kasper, what have I done so catastrophically wrong?"

Kasper's thoughts stumbled. He opened his mouth and closed it, words screeching over his tongue, juddering as he numbly tried to string them together. "What have you..." Cold stone dug into his back. He sucked in an unsteady breath, surprise tumbling into a reeling rush of anger that gathered thick and hot in his chest. He glared. "You've taken away every bit of joy I might've had," he growled. "You stole my family. You kill and torture and scheme without mercy. You've ruined my entire life!"

His fist thumped against the wall, and he bared his teeth, chest heaving in and out. He wanted his gun back. He wanted to kill her. He wanted to cry most of all. His eyes stung, and Khalida stared blankly back at him, unflinching. He might as well have said nothing at all.

She gave a thoughtful hum, frown lingering, then an acknowledging nod. "Oh, okay. I suppose that would do it."

A baffled exhale puffed out. "This city is withering away under your rule," he hissed, "and you don't even care." He was practically choking on the final word. How could she be so unaware, so unashamedly evil? How was any of this fair? He was going to die, and Khalida would simply chalk it up to an amusing happening. A bit of fun. That was all his life was worth. He sagged into himself, hugging his middle, a raking shiver darting down his spine.

Some tickle of offence found its way into her expression. She lifted her chin, arms more tightly folded. "I care! I love this city." Her mouth slipped into a lopsided curve, a lazy smile. "That's why I'm searching for ways to stop it from going stale."

Kasper would have given anything for his life to go stale, to be boring for a change. His mouth tasted stale, though, dry and empty, his tongue a weighted lump. "You're insane," he mumbled.

"I'm a dreamer." She spread her hands in a shrug. "Say, have you ever heard of magic, Kasper?"

He didn't want to answer, but something in her eyes told him it would be unwise to stay silent. "Like... from kid's stories?" he tried, voice hitching.

She scoffed. "Magic is no story." Pushing off from the doorframe, she strode forward, step jaunty and eyes gleaming with madness. There was no space for Kasper to retreat into as she bent down to his level right before him, grinning. "Magic is real, and I will find it. Once I do, your life will be fixed up just fine."

She tapped his forehead with the tip of a finger, then straightened, something almost expectant lingering in her smile. When he didn't deign to give her a response -- it was enough of a chore to swallow the bitterness and confusion lurching up his throat -- she tutted, swaying into a twirl as she retreated back towards the door. "You'll see," she said airily. "In the meantime, I'd like you to perform a little task for me."

"A task?" The question barely lifted from his mouth. Weariness turned fear to a sluggish trickle.

"Just a small one." She twisted a lock of hair around her finger; it was coloured a garish crimson, a red that washed bright waves of warning through her otherwise brown hair. "You might've heard that I have a daughter. Lovely freckled face, has inherited my looks and pleasant disposition. Corinne." A strange kind of affection threaded through the name. Her gaze drifted, smile distant. "I want you to kill her."

It took a moment for Kasper to process the words, jarring as they were. Frost balled up in his gut, scratching his insides, freezing and uncomfortable. So many turbulent whys whirled through his mind, but none of them found their way to his tongue. The cold numbed him, slowly, until he could only stare up at her with narrowed eyes. What did the why of it all matter? Khalida was devoid of sense and human empathy. All he could grasp from this was a chance to make it out of here alive. "What do I get out of it?"

Laughing gleefully, she spread her arms wide in showmanship. "Freedom! Life!" The delight in her grin could be nearly mistaken for something real. "A much better life. None of my followers will ever harm you -- we'll protect you, even. We could be a new family to replace the one you lost." Her smile tried and failed to soften; the harsh gleam in her eyes never dulled. "Doesn't that sound nice?"

Kasper's jaw clenched so tight that it hurt. A new family. He could hardly fathom how badly he wanted to see her dead just for the mockery in those words, but instead he choked on a quivering, angry silence.

She hummed, totally oblivious. Her finger wagged in his direction. "I best warn you, though: if you say no, I will have to kill you. Immediately." A light giggle tripped from her mouth. "And if you lie to me and fail to do it, then I'll have to hunt you down and kill you then! So really, someone dies either way. It's great sport, this business, isn't it?"

What was another death, in the grand scheme of it all? Maybe it didn't matter as long as it wasn't his. That thought left a sour stain in his chest, but he found himself nodding anyway, chin dipping mechanically up and down as if tied to some puppeteer's string. Obedience sat heavy in his bones. Defeat pooled even heavier in his stomach.

At least someone of the name Rajan would die by his hands. It wasn't worthwhile enough, but it was something. It bought him time. It was a start.

"Alright," he said, sure his voice had been exchanged for one that didn't belong to him, his lips moving of their own accord. "Where do I find your daughter?"