I am sound asleep and dreaming of tearing across the desert when I am jerked to alertness by a heavy rucksack being tossed onto my legs. An instant later I am crouched in an attack position, my back to the window and my dagger clutched in my hand.

Frye stares at me, eyes stretched wide. "Cripes, Kay. You sleep with that thing?"

"Sorry." I relax, folding my wrist and tucking the dagger away. "I have a thing about being woken unexpectedly."

"Noted. I'll make sure I'm more subtle in the future." My brother's easy smile creases his face. His time below Babel has aged him, creating permanent shadows beneath his eyes and making him appear older than his mid-twenties.

"Well, I'm up now." I rub the last of the sleep from my eyes and look towards the sack that so rudely awoke me. "What is that?"

"A bag."

"Thanks, genius. Why is there a bag on my bed?"

"I suppose because I just finished packing and I wanted to show off." Frye sinks down onto the bed beside me, pulling the rucksack onto his lap and shaking it pointedly.

I frown. "Packing? Where are you going?"

"Wherever you are." Frye waggles his eyebrows. "I'm itching for a bit of adventure."

The last of my tiredness evaporates immediately. "No."

"No, what?"

"No, you aren't coming to the Wastelands with me."

"Oh, I'm sorry. At some point in the last five years did you become a supreme goddess in charge of who goes where and when?" He asks.

"I'm serious, Frye. It's too dangerous." I grind my teeth in an effort to remain calm.

"Oy, you think I can't handle danger? Darling, I live for danger." Frye gestures dramatically.

I fail to find any humour in his teasing. "You're not coming."

"Oh, relax." He sighs, pushing his unkempt hair from his forehead and leaning back on his elbows. "I'm not going to cramp your style. I'm just going to tag along for a couple days, do a spot of camping and head on home. Does that suit you?"

My shoulders sag with relief. "Just a couple nights?"

"I'm afraid my fighting days are behind me." He kicks me playfully, coaxing a small smile from my lips. "There's only enough room in this family for one warrior."

"Come off it." I roll my eyes. "I'm no warrior."

"That's not what I've heard."

"Forget what you've heard." I slide out of bed, avoiding my brother's gaze and braiding my hair loosely. "This city's full of ridiculous rumours."

"And you're the star of most of them." Frye remarks. "The one thing I didn't expect about coming back home was finding my kid sister running the place."

"Meg's the one in charge of the City." I take my time in searching for a clean tunic, motioning for him to turn around while I change.

"Right there's a prime example." Frye's voice is slightly muffled as he faces the wall. "You call the Queen by her first name. She's your best mate, isn't she?"

"You know she is." I pull a sleeveless tunic over my head.

"That's truly something. How'd you meet her?"

"Long story." I say vaguely. "You want to find some breakfast?"

Frye spins back around. "Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Dodge my questions. Avoid talking about yourself. The girl I knew before couldn't shut up for half a second, and now I have to badger you for the slightest bit of information." He tilts his head expectantly.

A trace of anger works its way up my spine. "I'm just not super keen to hash out the past."

"But I am." Frye presses. "Come on, give me a little something. How about that mark on your arm? Where'd that come from?"

I glance down at the intricate tattoo decorating my right forearm. In doing so I recall the prick of Jaron's needle, the pain a welcome distraction after the loss in Babel.

"Look, I promise that one day we'll sit down together and I'll bore you to death with the world's longest story." I subconsciously tuck my tattooed arm behind me. "But right now I'm hungry. Can we please get some food?"

Frye rolls his eyes. "Suit yourself."

We pass the day together wandering the Commons, visiting old friends in the marketplace before zigzagging our way into the Court. Frye marvels at how different everything appears from six years ago, when the districts were so divided that we didn't dare venture too close to the Palace, lest some guard pick up on our ragged appearance and chuck us back to our parent's flat.

"Do you remember the first time we grifted a Courtier together?" He asks me.

I laugh. "You dressed up in the gaudiest second-hand outfit I've ever seen and flirted with the girls while I picked their pockets."

"Hey now, I made that gaudy outfit look downright dapper." Frye feigns offence.

"You were too tall for the trousers. Anyone who looked closely could see your knobby ankles poking out." I stick out a foot to trip him and he shoves me back.

"Those fine ladies never did look closely though, did they?" He grins impishly. "They were too taken in by my charms."

"You're full of it." I reply. "And you should be ashamed of yourself, turning your baby sister towards a life of crime."

"Desperate times called for desperate measures." Frye pauses. "Do you think Dad knew what we were up to?"

I nod. "He knew."

"He never said anything."

"I think he trusted us. Besides, they needed the money."

He looks thoughtful, glancing up the side of a pristine Courtly apartment. "I really thought they would be here when I got home."

"They should have been." It's difficult to disguise the bitterness in my voice.

We walk in silence for a couple of blocks before Frye speaks up again. "I know that you already told me what happened,"

I nod, keeping my eyes trained straight ahead. Not long after we were reunited following the siege on Babel, I pulled Frye aside and gave him the abbreviated version of what occured the night our old flat burnt down. I omitted the more gory details; just imagining my father mouthing the word 'run' right before he was slain is enough to cause a swell of anger through my veins.

"But I need more." Frye continues. "I need to know that you're alright."

"I'm fine." I say. "It was a long time ago."

His arm brushes mine and I pull away.

"I should have been there." He says softly.

"It wouldn't have made a difference." I bite down on the inside of my cheek. "Except that you might have been killed as well."

"I meant for you, Kay." Frye places a hand on my elbow, pulling me to a stop. "I should have been there for you."

My throat tightens, warning me of an impending crack. I swallow hard and shake my head. "It's not as though you had any choice in the matter."

"That's not the point."

"That is the point." I insist. "What I went through pales in comparison to what happened to you. I had to go through some shit but at least I was here, in the City, free to do as I pleased. But you..."

The cloud of red springs from the corners of my vision, threatening the pull me under. I wrench my wrist from Frye's grasp and step back, forcing myself to concentrate on my words and not the snide whispers inside my head.

"You had it so much worse." I finish, bringing a hand to my temple in an effort to sort through my muddy thoughts. "Look, Frye. There was a lot of unfairness on both sides, but going over and over it won't change anything."

"I just think–"

"Don't think. Just be here, with me." I say, more sharply than I intended. "We leave tomorrow, so can't we just enjoy today?"

"Whatever you say, sis." Frye turns away but I don't miss the tight set of his shoulders as he strides back down the road.

We run into Luca and Noah a few minutes later. The Waster brothers exit the blacksmith's, identical dark heads bent together in conversation.

"Kay, Frye." Noah lights up when he spots us. "Strange to see your feet upon the ground."

"It happens once in a blue moon." I reply. "I see you've chosen to take up Luca's precious free time with a spot of shopping?"

Noah laughs while Luca brandishes a quiver full of freshly-sharpened arrows. "We are preparing." Luca says.

"You and Kay, here are of the same mind." Frye remarks dryly. "It's always about the battle."

"True words." Noah agrees.

I wave off their comments, opening my mouth to speak when Luca interrupts me. "These arrows are not for the Mechs, they are for the hunt."

"The hunt?" Frye asks.

Luca nods. "Noah and I are going North to catch some game before joining Jaron and the others at the outpost."

"No kidding." Frye exclaims. "Kay and I are planning on doing a little familial bonding, also. Care to make your little hunting excursion a foursome?"

Noah brightens. "Of course!" He nudges Luca who nods politely. "With the Runner in our company, we may stand a chance of catching something."

"You would suppose so, but everything Kay knows of hunting she learned from me." Luca says, shooting me an arrogant little grin.

I laugh. "That sounds like a challenge."

We confirm our plans and head in opposite directions, Noah and Luca with their freshly-sharpened arrows and myself and Frye with a barely-concealed tension. I match his long stride as we head back to the flat, conscious of the fact that he's grown quieter since the morning. I suppress a sigh and resolve to make amends with my brother.

So long as it doesn't involve dredging up the past.

* * * * *

We find the Waster brothers outside the Outer Wall early the next morning, and together the four of us set out into the dawn. The sun gradually crests the dunes ahead, warming our shoulders and painting the Wastelands a golden hue.

Luca leads us in a North Easterly direction and soon we find ourselves amongst dense brush and precarious-looking rock formations. Frye and Noah joke and laugh easily, keeping the conversation light and lively as the day passes from morning to scorching afternoon. I find myself enjoying their company immensely, but can't help but notice Luca's growing frustration as the hours pass and we fail to locate so much as a lizard.

My growling stomach makes it difficult to concentrate on any impending sounds of wildlife, but I am spared the chore when Luca suddenly holds up his hand for silence.

We stop in our tracks, ears perked as we strain to listen. A moment later the barest of sounds emerges from the underbrush and both Luca and I snap our heads in the same direction. Silently, Luca draws his bow, notching an arrow and sighting along its path. I do the same, crouching low and waiting, barely breathing.

A minute passes. Then another. The thicket shakes and slowly, a lone goat emerges. I glance towards Luca who draws his bow more taut. He aims carefully, then looks to me and uses his eyes to gesture meaningfully at my own weapon. I give the barest of nods and together we loose our arrows.

The wretched creature hardly has a chance to bleet before collapsing. Noah releases a woot of triumph and we jog over to the carcass, examining the remains and talking over one another excitedly.

"Right through the neck!" Frye ruffles my hair. "Beautiful shot."

I shake my head, stepping around the goat and turning it over. Luca's arrow protrudes prominently from its eye.

"Show off." I remark as Luca expertly pulls each arrow free.

He shrugs but a pleased expression crosses his dark features. "It was a lucky shot."

He wipes my arrow clean and hands it back to me. Noah proves himself as proficient in the field as he is in the surgery, efficiently gutting the goat and scattering the organs. We bind the legs and Luca slings our prize across his shoulders, grinning proudly. The sky begins to grow dark just as we set off, turning back towards the river and away from the setting sun.

Before long, I spot a flicker of light in the distance. I point it out to Luca who furrows his brow, concentrating before declaring it a bonfire. The Mechs aren't known to make camp and so we venture closer, me pulling my hood up over my hair as we call out a greeting.

The travellers glance up at our arrival. The man stands first, putting himself between us and the two small girls behind him.

"Hello, there." He says when we draw closer.

"Evening." I allow the heat of the flames to lick my face and offer him a friendly wave. "I hope you don't mind, we were passing by and spotted your fire. Would you mind if we joined you for a spot of supper?"

"Not at all." The man relaxes visibly. "Although, I'm afraid we're a bit light on what we have to share. What we have you're welcome to, of course."

"Do not worry." Luca steps forward and indicates the goat he's carrying. "We have plenty."

The man's face lights up and he motions for us to sit. The little girls' eyes stretch wide as we prepare the goat, watching as Luca and Noah set to work skinning the meal. The Wasters hack off the choice cuts while Frye and I help the man spread the coals and rig up a spit for cooking. Soon, our supper hisses and pops while the night air fills with the delicious scent of roasting meat.

The man introduces himself as Petr and the little girls as Tris and Liza. They're friendly enough, and tell us that they're making their way to the City.

"It wasn't easy, leaving our village." Petr says. "But after the girls' mum passed away, and with so little food to be found..." He shrugs his shoulders. "I figured it was time to move on."

I glance down at the portion of meat in my hand. It won't do any good to tell him that there isn't much food in the City, either. With any luck, we will soon seize Babel and be able to send its supplies back to feed Petr and the others.

With full stomachs and the comforting heat of a roaring fire before us, we settle into a relaxed atmosphere. Frye regales us with jokes, sending the girls into fits of giggles as they clamber over one another in an effort to sit closer to him. I laugh along with them, settling back in my seat and letting my eyes drift closed. The voices begin to blend together, the happy sounds intermingling with the gentle crackling of wood.

"Will you tell us a story now, Papa?" Liza asks.

"A story, eh?" I catch the scent of Petr's tobacco as he puffs thoughtfully. "And what story would you like, my darling?"

"The Runner!"

My eyes snap open. I remain motionless, remembering that my hood still hides my telltale hair.

Petr chuckles. "Every night, the same story. Isn't there anything else you'd like to hear?"

"Please, Papa?" Liza pleads. "The whole story. I'm not even a bit tired."

"Well, that's a tall order." Petr throws us a wink. "I'm sure that our guests don't want to hear me prattle on quite that much."

I open my mouth to suggest something, but Frye–anticipating my misgivings–speaks up first.

"Not at all!" He exclaims. "Please, I'd love to hear everything you know about the Runner."

I shoot him an ugly look, which he pointedly ignores.

"All right, then." Petr leans back, taking another long drag off his pipe. "From the beginning, you say. I suppose in that case we better start in the City, in a tiny flat in a poor, run-down district..."

"Actually," I blurt, clasping my hands together tightly in an effort to ease their trembling. "How about something else? I mean," I draw a breath and force myself to smile. "I'm sure we've all heard this a hundred times. What if I tell you about sand monsters, instead?"

"Don't be silly." Frye slings an arm around my shoulders. "I, for one, have never been told the full Runner story and I am dying to hear it. Petr, please go on."

I stare into the flames, silently seething as Petr dives back into his tale. As I listen to my own life being retold by a stranger, I feel my blood turn cold while my heartbeat thrums a heavy warning. Petr's voice grows louder, almost deafening as he recounts the death of my parents and the destruction of our home. He goes on to tell how I slept rough on the streets, robbing the Courtiers and giving my earnings away like some kind of new-age Robin Hood.

I twitch at the exaggeration. The truth is that in those early days I was concerned with no one's survival but my own. I spent every penny on myself, stealing indiscriminately and stashing my earnings away. It wasn't until much later that I bothered to share my profits with the beleaguered Commoners.

Petr goes on, describing how I decided to take on the monarchy without so much of a mention of Will, as though our risky plan wasn't entirely his design.

I know what comes next. More lies, then an arrest, an interrogation, a near-execution and a rampage against the Madam; all of it culminating in a splintering of the Runner's mind.

The thrumming behind my eyes flashes red-hot and I stand abruptly, muttering some excuse and walking quickly away, directionless except for a sudden need to put as much distance between myself and the fire as possible.

I blink rapidly in an attempt to clear my vision. Eventually, I find myself back at the river, standing in the center of the dried-out expanse and searching the stars for my father's constellation.

The Fireline swims into view. I stare up at the burned-up ashes of our former world, appearing in stark contrast to the mess of stars dotting the night sky. I reflexively trace the celestial path, orienting myself towards my childhood home the way my father taught me.

The trick works, and gradually the throbbing in my temple ebbs and I am able to draw a deep breath. I wait, listening to the soft tread of feet making their way towards me.

"I'm not in the mood for company." I say, without turning around.

"Neither am I." Luca replies. "I just wanted to take in the night air."

"Sure, you did." I roll my shoulders back in an effort to release some tension. "You should have stayed by the fire, you're going to miss the end of the story."

"I already know how it ends." He says. "The Runner topples a city, frees its prisoners and saves the world."

I laugh bitterly. "'Condemns it' might be more accurate."

Luca steps closer, standing so that his shoulder is barely grazing mine. "It hurts, does it? To face the past?"

"It hurts to hear it told by people who weren't there."

"They talk not only because it amuses them. The legend of the Runner is about more than a person. It is an idea. For many people, the Runner represents hope."

"She's a falsehood." I shake my head. "They put too much faith in her, in me. I can't save anyone. I couldn't save Will."

"You do not need to be a hero." He places a hand on my arm so that I'm forced to face him, his features barely visible in the darkness. "Those stories are just that, Kay. Stories. You do not have to make them truth."

A lump forms in my throat. I swallow, concentrating on Luca's reassuring hold on me. We remain still for a long time, listening to the nothingness of the desert.

"If I'm not the Runner," I hear myself say. "Then I'm not sure what's left."

"You are." He squeezes my wrist tighter. "A person beyond stories. A person who falls and rises, again and again."

He searches my face, never wavering, stock-still and solid as the earth.

"We are constrained by nothing." He says. "We do not have to do what anyone expects of us. If you wished it, we could run now and leave them all behind."

Run.

I shrug off the memory. The old, steely resolve settles over me and I straighten, banishing doubt and drawing from Luca's certainty.

"I want to try." I say, all traces of misgiving vanquished. "I'm not ready to give up. Not yet."

Luca nods, a slow smile pulling at his lips. "Then I am going to help you."