Leaping up the side of the nearest building, I scramble to it's roof. My old playground stretches out before me, disappearing up the hill and into the Vane's inferno. Positioned amongst the clouds, I roll my shoulders to loosen them and take off.

The rooftops disintegrate into the distance and I have to rely on my memory to find my footholds. Setting a breakneck pace I run with total abandon, hurtling over ledges and throwing myself across the City's crooked alleyways. The Madam's unholy creation comes into view as I draw closer to the hill's highest point and I realize that the Palace's beautiful roof is gone. Pristine glass has been replaced by the Vane's utilitarian stature, it's silver point protruding from the wreckage.

Lightning performs it's catastrophic dance as I pass from the former Commons to the Court and plot my route to Meg. Tired muscles and tightened lungs are ignored and it dawns on me that for the first time in ages I am completely without a plan. For so long I've done nothing but plot and scheme and now...now I haven't the foggiest idea of what I'm doing. With no choice but to trust my instincts, I swallow my doubts and dive headfirst into the unknown.

One step at a time.

First problem: how to get inside? My eyes dart across the rapidly-approaching Palace gate. The span is too far to jump but scaling the wall increases the likelihood of getting caught. An idea sparks and I change direction, aiming for a particular roof. Landing in a crouch I look up and swipe an arm across my vision, straining to see through the pouring rain.

By the gods of second chances, it's still there.

I can't stop the smile from spreading across my face as I jog toward my old Palace escape route, running my hand along the rope that serves as a pulley system up to my former bedroom. This rope and it's handlebar was rigged and gifted to me by someone who understood how much I detest stairs. Wrapping my legs around the rope I begin to crawl hand over hand up the line, making it only a few yards before the wave of grief hits.

Screwing my eyes shut I tighten my grip and bear my way through the onslaught, trembling as a whispered fear works it's way to the surface. Whatever remains of Will is down there, somewhere.

You're stronger than you think. Gritting my teeth I restart my ascent and remind myself that there will be a time to mourn properly, but this is not it. The weight that comes with missing him settles in my chest and I have the clarity to marvel that it could be Will, of all people, who paved the way to Meg.

I force myself to climb carefully, mindful of the steep pitch and how every inch sends me further over the abyss. The gate passes beneath me and I catch a glimpse of the Brutes guarding the entrance to the Palace. Out of habit I hold my breath, despite knowing that they won't look up.

No one ever looks up.

The wind rockets my line back and forth. I readjust my grip and it isn't until a bolt of lightning loosens the stones from the wall across from me that I begin to reevaluate the wisdom of hanging from a rope during an electrical storm. Traversing the remaining distance at a reckless pace I finally reach the window, climbing through and dropping soundlessly to the ground. Crouched low I hold my dagger in a shaking fist, casting my gaze around the darkened room. The bed and desk are overturned but the damage looks to be the work of the Vane and not a Brute. It is several beats before I straighten, releasing my breath but not my weapon as I creep into the hallway.

The menacing shapes jumping out at me are shadows drawn by the exploding sky. I stay flat against the wall as I sidle toward the stairs, ears perked for any strange sounds. I know that the Vane is sealed into Meg's apartment on the topmost floor but Meg, herself...where would she be?

Trap.

Marc's warning flashes again as a burst of thunder rocks the corridor. Rolling out of the way I only barely manage to avoid a falling light fixture. Rising back to unsteady feet, the near-miss makes me think that Meg would be smart enough to bed down somewhere free of debris. That eliminates the library, the temple, the parlours...I continue to run through the possibilities as I slip into a servants entry and take momentary refuge inside the narrow passage.

The Great Hall.

Another thunderclap loosens a cascade of pebbles upon me. My footsteps are quiet but hurried as I race to the ground floor. Of course: the Hall would be the ideal place to ride out a storm. It's bare furnishings are designed to be removed and exchanged by the occasion and the high ceiling is supported by the weight of the floors above.

Trap.

The rushing of blood fills my ears as I place a foot up the stairs. Summoning all of my courage I descend another step, then another. Whistling wind and a cascade of icy drops hit me as I round the corner and I find myself caught in the tide unleashed by the broken windows.

The rain hammers me and I nearly miss the broadsword swinging free of the shadows.

Pulling back at the last instant, I stare wide-eyed at the blade embedded in the stone where my neck used to be. The Brute is everywhere at once, the metal armour and gear grafted to his chest crushing me in the small space. I grab onto the sword's hilt and kick out, driving the Brute back and buying myself a few precious seconds but only managing one fruitless pull on the sword. The Brute comes at me again, it's armoured shoulder knocking my defence aside and scoring a blow that drives the air from my lungs. I double over, gasping as I dodge it's next attack and collide with unforgiving stone. Metal closes in around me again and I spin blindly away only to scrape against the stairs. As I struggle to rise my gaze darts from the Brute to the sword wedged in the wall behind it.

Two sudden moves and the godless tick tick tick of it's gear is ended.

Diving between it's legs I jump to my feet on the opposite side of the sword and reach across it to yank the Brute toward me. Black blood oozes from the wound in his neck and I stagger back, bile churning my stomach as the Brute twitches robotically before going limp and crumpling to the ground. Stepping carefully over his mutilated body I avert my eyes from the silent accusation burning up at me.

My bad knee twists awkwardly as I stumble down the remaining stairs. Twitching involuntarily each time I round a corner, I remain in the servant's passage and stop intermittently to decipher a strange shadow or press an ear against a door. Despite it's airs, the Palace always boasted plenty of life but now, the eerie shuffling of armoured feet and the ticking of gears are my only companions. Continuing my search down once-familiar halls I check the infirmary, the storerooms, and the kitchen before finally reaching the Great Hall.

The scraping of wood against tile is what gives the Miners away. The heavy dining tables take many hands to move so I remain pressed against the hidden entryway, straining to listen. Whispers and the rustle of clothing stem from inside the Hall, the noises scattered and clumsy and all-too-human.

"Come on, people, put your backs into it." I recognize Marc's voice. Peeking around the corner, I spy him and a handful of Palace staff carrying one of the massive dining tables toward the courtyard. Leaning out a little further, I peer into the gloom and scan it for Brutes. Shards of light are reflected by the glass chandeliers that hang from the vaulted ceiling, painting the glamorous Hall with a lethal sheen. With one eye on my escape route, I take a tentative step inside.

"All right, all right, here's good." Marc grunts and the table hits the floor with a thud. He wipes a hand across his brow and glances in my direction, his mouth dropping open in shock, "Kay?"

I take another step forward, wincing when Marc releases a muted whoop and hurdles the table to race over to me. I am pulled into a bone-crushing hug, my protests muffled by Marc's chest.

"I should have known," he shoves me back. "You're mad, Runner, positively barking. I told you not to come here."

"May as well have rolled out the welcome mat." I hide my relief with a joke. Searching the cavernous room I take stock of it's occupants, spying Gus and my old handmaiden, Sera amongst the handful of collected Miners. I search again but there's no sign of Meg.

"Where is she?" I ask.

A pained look comes over Marc's face. "The Madam demanded her. The Queen's been taken upstairs."

The hollowness of dread fills me and I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. "And everyone else? Is this all of you?"

"This is it." Marc pushes back his mop of hair as he glances over his shoulder, indicating the sparse group. "Those zombies took Megra and collected the rest of us in here."

"Right," My head is spinning.

One more step. Get the others out, then find Meg.

"And why are we moving the tables?" I bring myself back to the subject at hand, "What's the plan?"

"The word 'plan' is a bit of a stretch," Marc looks at Gus, who shrugs. "The best we could come up with was creating a ruckus to lure the baddies in here and sealing them inside using the tables. After that...well...I guess we make a run for it."

I chew on my lip, considering the Hall and it's various exits while deliberately avoiding any hope-filled glances being thrown in my direction.

"It could work," I say slowly, thinking out loud. "The Brutes are spread throughout the Palace and it's grounds. You won't have a straight shot to the City unless our...ruckus?" I raise a brow at Marc, who smirks, "...our ruckus would need to be substantial enough to rouse them all." Blowing the air out from between my teeth, "And if we're going to use these tables as our locks then we'll also need a way to get them through the doors and put into place in a hurry."

"We can rig something together." Gus speaks up, his cheeks pink but his words resolute. "These tables, some rope and a rudimentary pulley system ought to be enough to hold the doors. We just need to figure out how many points of entry we are contending with..."

"Six." Sera steps forward, giving a pert nod as she comes to join us. "One to the main corridor, one to the courtyard, the kitchen and three servant's accesses. Hello, Miss."

Sera, Marc and Gus' steadfastness and the silent determination of the Miners gathered behind them sets fire to my rain-soaked core. Straightening, I steal myself a portion of their courage.

"In that case, it would be my honour to serve as your ruckus."

We set to work immediately, bringing the smaller tables into the servant's passages and wedging them against the doors before darting back down the passage to the kitchen. I stand guard, urging the others into a run when a pair of Brutes lumber past.

"That was close." Sera huffs as I rejoin them in the Hall and we hurry to help move the remaining tables.

I murmur my agreement, taking up a spot next to her. As we wait for Marc's instructions I try to focus on my task but my troublesome heart seems to prefer the image of Meg trapped up in the Palace's roof with a madwoman.

"I knew that you'd come." Sera speaks up again, startling me from my thoughts. "I never doubted it for a moment. Even when they all said you'd become queen of some other nation and forgotten all about us, I knew that if we really needed the Runner, that you'd be here."

"Sera, I...that's not...I'm not... " I swallow the words. What I want to tell her is that there is nothing heroic about my return to the City, that I haven't the slightest idea what to do and that I have never been more terrified in my life. Instead, I say, "I'm not who you think I am. I ruined everything."

"That's a bit dramatic, don't you think, Miss?" Lapsing into silence, we concentrate on lifting the table and holding it steady while Marc and Gus scramble to loop the rope they've fashioned from tablecloths around it. My gaze is trained steadfastly forward but Sera manages to catch my eye. "Nothing's ruined, yet."

I duck my head, staring on a knot in the wood while a tremor works it's way through me. Vaguely, I realize how long it's been since I slept, ate or rested and my resolve wavers again. My knee gives a sudden spasm and I am jerked back to the present, grunting as I shift to adjust my position. "Maybe you should wait to see how everything turns out before you give me too much credit."

"I don't need to." She states simply. "You came back. That's all that matters."

I give her a small grin of thanks as the pair of inventors declare themselves ready. We lower the table carefully, letting it's end rest inside a noose.

"And, heave!" Marc gives the instruction and the load is pulled from our grasps, the table's end lifted via a makeshift pulley. Gus ties the rope's end to a fixture near the door, pulling the knot securely before we all step back to admire our handiwork. The result is a suspended table ready to be maneuvered through one of the Hall's remaining exits. The tablecloth-rope has been fixed so that a single, clean cut will cause the tables to fall and the doors to be sealed by it's weight.

"That ought to do it." Gus wipes his hands on his trousers. "Once the chaos starts we'll swing this and the other contraption through the doors."

"It's beyond clever." I declare. "I'll take care of cutting the rope near the courtyard; just set it up for me so that I can cut it as soon as they're all inside." Two consecutive bursts of thunder breaks my concentration and brings a harsh reality. It's my turn.

A distinct electricity sparks the air, raised by the storm and our collective nerves. Running my hands up and down my arms to stifle the goosebumps I make my way over to my discarded weapons, considering my bow and near-empty quiver. Leaving them to be trampled in a dusty corner I kneel and adjust the dagger strapped to my leg.

"Leave in small groups," I yank on the leather belt to tighten it. "And keep to the walls. Whoever's releasing the first lock shouldn't wait too long. As soon as there's an opportunity, cut it and run."

"Got it." Marc gives a sharp nod.

"I'll stay with you." Gus speaks up, surprising us both. I glance back and forth between the two of them, the weight on my chest easing when I see the look they exchange.

"You don't have to—" Marc starts but Gus interrupts him before he can finish.

"I'm staying."

Marc's easy smile twitches and he gives Gus' hand a grateful squeeze before reaching out to pull me to my feet. His nervousness shows in the tightness of his hold and the way he stares at me, his eyes searching as if committing me to memory. "As soon as the coast is clear Sera can lead everyone out through the servant's passages. Gus and I will hang back until the Brutes stop coming."

My throat dry, I can only manage a raspy affirmative.

Marc releases me, taking a step back. "I suspect this sort of sentiment doesn't mean much in times like these," The sound of rattling glass nearly drowns him out. "But be careful."

"It does." Cinching my hair into a knot, I prepare to run. "And I will."

The door to the main hallway stands passively before me, the roped-up table ready and waiting. A glance over my shoulder shows me the same is true of the courtyard exit. Digging my heels into the tile floor, I clench and unclench my fists while the Miners scurry to take up their positions. A quick nod to Marc and he cups his hand around his mouth, shouting at the top of his lungs.

"It's her! It's the Runner, she's here!"

A thunderclap, a heartbeat, and then the floodgates burst open.