I let Will lead me to a waiting carriage, his warm hand encircling mine as I step inside. While he goes to speak with the driver, I sigh and let my head tilt back against the plush leather of the seat, suddenly so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open.

A small smile tugs at my lips. The stress, planning and risk was all worth it; the escape was a success. It will be hours still before someone discovers the guards left locked in the cell, and by then the commoners will be long gone. For the first time since I arrived at the Palace, I feel as though I have accomplished something. I feel like myself again.

I am jolted from my stupor when Will opens the door and climbs in next to me. He doesn't say anything and I don't ask where we are going as the carriage rumbles down the drive and through the gate. I stare out the window at the gilded Palace receding into the distance, marvelling at the way the lanterns illuminate the glass walls so starkly against the dark night sky.

As we roll down the empty streets, there is no sound but the tap of the horse's feet against the stone and Will's own soft breathing. The cool night air floating in through the carriage windows is pleasant on my face, rousing me and making me more aware of Will's presence. He hasn't said a word about the jailbreak and I can't be sure yet that he isn't completely furious.

Finally, the carriage draws to a stop. I don't worry about propriety this far from the Court and open the door myself, stepping out into the street. Clutching my skirts in my hand, I look about at our surroundings, confusion and happiness welling up within me.

"The market?" I ask as Will's shoulder brushes mine. Behind us, I can hear the carriage driver snap his reins and the horse begin its methodical plod back up the road.

"I figured this was as good a place to start as any." Will nods to the building closest to us. "Could you teach me how to climb?"

I grin, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the alleyway. In the tight space, I feel his breath on my neck, familiar and warm.

He stands back as I stoop and begin gathering my skirts. I pull the long fabric above my knees and between my legs, rolling and twisting the leftover material so that it is wrapped around my waist and tucked into secure folds. I look back up to see Will regarding me, a quizzical look on his face.

"What?" I ask.

"Been working on that, have you?" There is a note of amusement in his tone.

"I like to be prepared."

"I should have known you would find a way to run in a dress." He steps closer, peering up at the wall while he unbuttons his starched vest, sliding it down off his arms before he loosens his collar. "So, how do we accomplish this, exactly?"

I am momentarily distracted and have to blink myself back into focus, following his gaze up the wall. "Same principle as when we climbed down. Look for window ledges and bricks that you can use as a step or a grip, and watch out for anything loose. You don't want to kick a brick down onto some unfortunate person on the street or, worse," I raise my eyebrow at him, "wake the tenant."

He has loosened his kerchief and broadened his stance, now standing in serious concentration. His eyes crisscross the facade of the building while his brow furrows in deep thought. I kick off my sandals, tossing them in a pile with Will's discarded vest before I jump up to grab a ledge and pull myself up the side of the building a bit at a time.

The thudding in my chest increases with the exhilaration of rediscovering my first love while my eyes pick out the familiar patterns, revealing my route. My polished nails chip on the brick as I pull myself up and over the roof edge, ignoring the muscles protesting from disuse.

I look down to see Will following a similar route up the building, moving more slowly than I was but ascending at a steady pace. I step back as he heaves himself up to the top and offer a hand to pull him to his feet.

"Dr. Cain, you're a natural," I tell him.

He smiles that half-grin at me, grey eyes twinkling in the moonlight. "Ready to run?"

My heart fairly soars as we turn together and dash for the next building, leaping simultaneously over the edge and landing in identical crouches. I feel my body relaxing into the motions as we run; it propels me easily across the roofs and lifts me high into the air during every jump, bending into a coiled spring to catch me when I land.

We run wordlessly, matching our stride breath for breath. I fly atop the buildings, my footsteps perfectly in sync with Will's, both of us knowing intuitively where we are headed. Together, we leap across city streets, our path lit only by the light of the moon and stars.

The gaps beneath our feet grow narrower and after a time I slow and stop, feeling rather than seeing Will draw up next to me. I stand and look straight out over the ledge, taking in the familiar sight as I saw it for weeks from the room below. The roof of Will's flat appears the same, yet entirely different from the first time we stood in this spot together.

Will's shoulders move up and down in tune with his breath, laboured from his run and echoing my own. His skin smells acutely of sandalwood and glistens with a light dusting of perspiration.

"Are you angry with me?" I ask.

His breathing gradually slows into its usual calm rhythm.

"No," he answers. "I'm not sure exactly why...but I'm not."

I smile, a little sadly. "You should be furious."

"I know that I should be. I asked you to be careful and the next thing I know, you're waltzing prisoners straight through a Palace ball." He shakes his head. "Have you any idea how mad that is?"

I chew on my bottom lip, watching him. Historically, this is the moment where we find ourselves screaming at each other, but Will doesn't appear angry. There is no telltale bunching in his shoulders, crinkling in his brow. He stands impassive, a look of bewilderment crossing his dark features.

"You took a huge risk, doing that." He runs a hand over the back of his neck. "You could have jeopardized everything."

"But I didn't."

"But you didn't," he agrees. Looking over at me, he says, "It's difficult to be angry, when I'm so impressed."

I am thankful that the moonlight hides the blush staining my cheeks. "I wanted to tell you. I could have used your help."

"I know why you kept me out of it." He releases a breath of air between his teeth. "I would have tried to stop you."

"Yes." The wind whips strands of hair around my face and I shove them back impatiently. "I had to do it, Will. I couldn't just leave them there. Not when I could do something."

"I know."

"I've tried to be patient, I really have, but I feel so useless in that parlour."

"I know."

"I needed to feel like myself again."

He closes the distance between us with one smooth stride. "I know."

I shake my head, frustrated. "How can you, when I don't understand myself?"

"Because I see you. You're a lot of things, Red. Brash, reckless, impatient..." His grey eyes burn into mine. "And brave with too much heart for your own good. It's why I sought you out in the first place—it's why I wanted your help."

I stare up at him, waiting.

"I've put so much time and effort toward beginning this rebellion that I think I've lost sight of where it ends." He seems to stumble on his words but sets his jaw and stays his course. "I convinced myself that with enough preparation, we would be able to launch a flawless attack, but every step just seems to lead to more obstacles. Maybe there is no such thing as the perfect plan. Maybe we need to have a go at it, take a chance." He rubs the scruff on his head, something he does when he's trying to work through a problem. "I don't want to leave any room for misstep." Searching my face. "Do you know how it is, to feel like you have only one opportunity to get things right?"

"What's the matter with having only one chance?" I ask. "All the more reason to put everything you have into it."

He stares at me, his expression unreadable.

I press on, speaking slowly. "When you jump, you cannot fear the fall."

He blinks once and his brow clears. He looks at me as though he is finally seeing his long-sought-after solution. The cool breeze tickles the exposed skin on my back and my flesh rises in goosebumps.

"Well?" I ask, when I can no longer stand the silence. "Have you finally decided to trust me?"

"I could ask you the same thing." A dimple creases his cheek. "Am I going to be consulted the next time you organize a jailbreak?"

"Yes. As long as you don't try to stop me."

"I don't think I could stand a chance." He moves closer and tugs gently on the end of my braid. "You'll be bringing down the monarchy, with or without my help."

I shake my head. "I don't have a hope of it without you. You were right about me being small-time, Will. Anyone could see that there was something rotten with this city, but you're actually finding a way to fix it." I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. "There couldn't be a rebellion without you."

He doesn't say anything for a very long time. I wait, for once not feeling the usual restlessness, instead content to simply watch the way the moonlight paints dappled patterns across his features.

"What was that you said about jumping, Kay?" His voice is low, rough.

"Don't be afraid of the fall."

He draws me to him, cupping my face with his hand and pressing his lips to mine. I let my arms snake their way around his back and hold him tightly, revelling in the sensation of our heartbeats thudding against one another.

His frame dwarfs mine, suffocating and liberating all at once. I grasp the folds of his shirt, needing to feel him against me, needing the contact of skin against skin.

"Kay," he whispers against my mouth.

But I don't want to talk. I reach up, tugging him closer, silencing our questions. I feel his hands against the small of my back, warming the skin there and sending a bolt of heat coursing through my entire body.

He rests his forehead against mine as we draw apart. Our breaths are ragged, passed from one to the other.

Finally, Will breaks the silence. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"What compels you to do it?"

I look up at him, confused. "To do what?"

He raises his brows. "To risk yourself this way. Why do you do it? I know that you want to help your friends, but the way you put yourself on the line for them..." His thumb brushes my cheek as he studies me. "Frankly...it's foolhardy. It makes me think that you aren't looking out for yourself."

I blink a couple times, momentarily taken aback.

I open my mouth to answer him, then close it again, thinking. His question is familiar, an echo of both Harry and Lara's concerns, but the sense of déjà vu I am experiencing goes back further than that.

For perhaps the first time in my life, I don't have any words.

"I once asked my father that same question," I hear myself say, eventually. "I couldn't comprehend why it wasn't enough that we would miss him if he was hurt or killed. He told me that he risked himself because the reward was greater than what his life was worth." I shrug. "I didn't really know what he meant at the time."

The great aching pit of loss opens up inside me, but this time I give in to the memory instead of pushing it away. "I think I understand now. The reward is a great city, and that is worth so much more to me than anything else."

I take a deep, shuddering breath and look up at the sky, reflexively tracing the patterns in the stars and orienting myself toward my childhood home. "My father believed in a City that took care of everyone, regardless of their lot in life. He was the bravest, most selfless person I have ever known. I want to finish what he started. I want him to be proud of me."

I shut my eyes, expecting the usual bout of grief, surprised when I feel an incredible lightness instead. Speaking of my family for the first time since I lost them fills me with a sense of pride for who they were, rather than anger for how they died.

I tilt my head to look up at Will. He is watching me intently, his expression unreadable.

A heat rises to my cheeks and I bite my lip. "Does that make any sense?" I ask.

His small smile echoes my own. "I don't know if I will ever fully understand you, Red, but I feel as though I'm getting closer."

And he kisses me again. I feel his half-grin under my lips and my heart gives an agonizing lurch. Oh, gods. I'm in trouble.

"I'm in trouble," he murmurs.

I don't say anything in response, not trusting myself to speak. I don't want to think about what this is, I just want to have it.

"I'm ready to do this," he says, finally. "I don't want to wait any longer."

"Is that a proposition?" I ask. "Because your manners could use some work."

He laughs, smoothing the strands of hair away from my face. "I was referring to the rebellion."

"Oh, that," I tease. "Good, because I have an idea."

"Come on, then. We shouldn't speak out here."

He steps back, keeping hold of my hand as he tugs me toward the ledge of the roof. Together, we climb over the edge and swing in through the window of his flat. Will busies himself lighting the lanterns while I perch impatiently on the couch, watching his movements anxiously.

He shakes out the match and disappears into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a flask of water. I take it from him when he offers it, shifting to make room on the couch. He remains on his feet, pacing back and forth in front of me.

"Sit, will you? You're making me nervous."

"I received some worrying news tonight." He rubs his fingers tiredly over his eyes. "The King intends to marry Grayson and the Princess at the earliest opportunity."

"We can delay that. She hasn't accepted him yet." I tilt the flask and take a drink.

"The King accepted Grayson for her. They are to be married in two weeks."

The water catches in my throat, seizing my breath.

Will continues to pace and doesn't look up, talking seemingly to himself. "Once they're married, the King is going to hold another, larger draft for both the City and the Outer City. He wants to send at least a thousand men into the Wastelands, but the draft isn't going to stop until he has eradicated the desert of every single Waster."

I drag my wrist over my chin to wipe away the droplets of water.

"They'll be slaughtered," I say, gravely. "Even if they do eventually wipe out the Wastelanders, the battles will be made up of untrained labourers against mercenaries." I shake my head. "We won't stand a chance."

Will finally ceases his relentless pacing and turns to look directly at me. "Which is why we need to usurp the throne now. Before anyone gets shipped out."

"If we manage to pull this off," I say, slowly. "What happens afterward?"

He wrinkles his brow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, how do you intend the City to be ruled, if not by the King?"

"It won't be ruled—that's the whole point!" Will looks incredulous. "We will govern ourselves, everyone, together. I thought that's what you wanted?"

"No, that isn't what I want, and trust me, that isn't what you want, either." I think of my father, of his warnings. "Think about it, Will. There is a war at our borders, and without one person to unite us, we won't stand a chance. We will have turned the City into a place of chaos and anarchy."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that we don't need the King, but that Meg would make a remarkable queen."

His eyes widen in surprise. "A queen?"

"She understands us, Will," I say, hurriedly. "At first I had written her off as another spoiled courtier, but she really cares. She has these amazing ideas about opportunity and equality and education..." As I speak, the idea begins to crystallize in my mind. I look up at Will, trying to gauge his reaction. "Just imagine the possibilities if we could draw her to our cause. She's a leader, someone the people will naturally follow. She just needs us to support her."

He walks back over to the couch and sinks down next to me, his expression thoughtful.

"Do you really think that is what the people want?" he asks, eventually.

"What the people want is someone who cares about them." I angle myself so I am looking directly at him, our knees nearly touching. "If we eliminate the King, the Board and Grayson, there will be no one to speak up against Meg and her right to rule. I think we need to give the monarchy a chance to make things right."

He nods, slowly. "All right."

I blink. "Really?"

"Yes. I trust you." His eyes have taken on that low, smouldering light.

I lean closer, tracing the small imprint in his cheek.

"So, are we really doing this?" I ask, quietly.

In answer, he pulls me toward him. I close my eyes, feeling strong arms envelop me as I fall.