Normally I would head straight to the pawn shop, but given the fuss I kicked up back at the courtier's house, I think it would be wise to hold onto my spoils for now. I'll have to try and sell them later once some of the heat has died down.

The dull pain in my knee is all but forgotten as I head in the direction of the tavern. I leap effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop, bypassing the crowds below and travelling with a speed that may as well be flight.

There is beauty to be found among this desolation. The world before the Burn boasted skyscrapers and greenery, but our simple, sturdy structures serve a greater purpose: survival.

The world wasn't always this way—oppressively warm in the daytime and cold at night, harsh with gusting sand and ceaseless drought. Years ago, the earth was rich in variety, ever-changing in season. The way my father told it to my brother and me, the Burn was an inevitable result of humanity being consumed by greed and selfishness. We dug and hollowed out our planet, depleting our resources and spilling toxic chemicals into the atmosphere. Over time, the sun's light grew brighter, gradually incinerating our planet's once-fertile environment until every semblance of civilization was completely eradicated in an event we call the Great Burn.

The harsh climate that settled upon us post-Burn wreaked havoc on our technology and power sources, driving people against one another and forcing them into the desert with all of its murderous intent.

Most of humanity perished within the first few years of the Burn.

Most, but not all.

Some of our ancestors survived by banding together and constructing a settlement, while others chose to remain in the Wastelands and live in roughshod tribes. The first group of survivors built up the walls of their camp into what eventually became the City, while the shadowy Wastelanders retreated further into the unknown, taking up arms and battling us endlessly over the desert's scant resources. It isn't known what originally caused the Wastelanders and the City dwellers to split into two distinct camps, but a couple of hundred years have served only to intensify our differences.

Two hundred and nine years have passed and some semblance of society has returned. The original City has expanded beyond the great, glass Palace and the fine noble homes that were first erected around it, now encompassing what was once a refugee camp. The descendants of the City's first settlers live in the inner district, nicknamed the Court, while the rest of us occupy the crumbling outer area known as the Commons.

Robbed of the old ways, we rely on the history books preserved by our ancestors to learn and rebuild. Our city has long outgrown the reach of its walls and now much of our wood, food and water is provided by traders — brave travellers who make long, dangerous treks into the Wastelands to collect from the nearby oases. The remainder of our materials are extracted from the earth, pried out of crumbling underground caverns. Hundreds of common men make the journey to our quarry every day, armed with their shovels and pickaxes. It is a hard, dangerous job suited only to the City's strongest. Those who venture outside the safety of our wall take their lives into their hands. The peril of sudden dust storms, blistering days and freezing nights pales in comparison to the dangers of coming up against our most dangerous enemy: the Wastelanders.

I roll out of my last jump and stride to the ledge, perching and surveying the endless landscape before me. Miles and miles of twisting alleyways stretch out in every direction, with the low, sun-bleached buildings jutting up between them. From the ground, the City can appear like a maze, full of dead ends and confusing turns, but up here, it all makes perfect sense.

Turning so that my legs are dangling over the edge of the roof, I adjust my grip and climb down to the ground. Landing among a cloud of sand, I push the wayward strands of hair back from my face and stride through the door of my favourite tavern, the Beacon.

The atmosphere inside the pub is a startling contrast to the brightness outside. Here, the air is smoky and the light is dim. The bar's owner, Samus, prefers to keep it dark, as his customers are usually performing a private sort of business. Patrons gather around the low tables, laughing over their pints or participating in riotous, high-stakes card games.

I crane my neck, looking for some familiar faces before I elbow my way to the bar.

"Kay!" Samus' booming voice cuts through the din. "Been a while. Was beginnin' to think you forgot about us." He pulls down a mug, filling it with a foamy, frothy liquid.

Like most of the men in the City, Samus is tall and broad, a build well suited to the miners and bricklayers. The old bartender has been a fixture for most of my life; he worked alongside my father during his quarry days. That was back when Samus still had both his eyes.

"Aw, Sammy, you know I could never forget about you," I tease. "I've just been so busy lately, what with matters of diplomacy to attend to. You know how it is."

Samus throws back his greasy head and laughs. "Yes, that would be time-consumin'." He thrusts a frothing mug of ale at me, the cold liquid soaking my hand as I pick it up. "Thanks for stoppin' by. And don't forget to tip, mind." Unlike Harry, Samus would never neglect to pick up his dues.

I slide a coin across the counter and hold my mug high above my head as I shove my way back through the crowd, concentrating on not spilling my hard-earned drink.

Finally arriving at the back of the pub, I seek out our usual booth near a boarded-up window. Spots of light seep through the gaps, illuminating the two men crowding the table.

"Boys!" I announce my presence obnoxiously, slamming my mug down on the table and slopping its contents onto the rotting wood. "I have arrived. What's the good news?"

Shouts of laughter warm my cheeks. Edmun rises and grabs me a chair while Gordy shuffles to the side to make room. A heavy hand slaps my back as I collapse into my seat and take a healthy sip of my drink, surveying the table and grinning.

"Kay-kay! We were just talking about you." Edmun smiles brightly.

"How many times must I tell you, do not call me Kay-kay." I groan. "It was not all right when I was a child and it is not all right now."

A few years older than me, Edmun was the best friend of my brother, Frye. He works as a blacksmith, just as his own father did before him. Despite the fact that he is most often covered in a layer of soot, Edmun's chiselled features and easy sense of humour have always attracted a healthy amount of female attention.

"So you've been gossiping about me, eh? All good things, I suspect. You lot looked very deep in conversation before I came and broke up the party." I take another sip of my drink, raising my eyebrows questioningly.

"Only ever good things. Compliments on your stunt at the stables! That was a feat of beauty." Edmun crashes his mug into mine and throws it back greedily.

I flinch and cast a furtive look over my shoulder, digging my elbow into Edmun's ribs. "Lower your voice, you grease-pile. You forget that not everyone is as friendly as you."

I try to sound strict, but Edmun takes my chiding with typical good humour, chucking me across the chin.

"A bit heavy-handed on the flattery, aren't we, Ed? I heard there was a right embarrassing chase at the end, when they spotted her." Gordy stares right at me, even though his comment is directed at Edmun.

Gordy has always been on the fringes of our little group, but in recent years, with me being away so often, he has become a regular fixture. We have never been particularly friendly; Gordy's snide attitude and general shiftiness have always left me with a lingering sense of distrust. Edmun has only ever laughed and dismissed my reservations as jealousy over his attention.

"There was a bit of a scuffle, but it was nothing I couldn't handle." I rock back in my chair, glaring at Gordy. "Those fat guards couldn't catch a cold."

"Just sayin'." A sneer pulls at his mouth, revealing rotten teeth. "If it were me, I'd have those horses free with none even knowin' I was there."

"So why wasn't it you, Gordy?" A throaty voice breaks through the tavern's din.

I grin as a beautiful, brassy-haired girl, swathed in a traditional white toga, sets her mug on the table and nudges me aside to share my seat.

"Lara!" I embrace my oldest friend, all my frustration at Gordy immediately forgotten.

Lara hugs me back, her heavily made-up face leaving a smear on my shoulder and her gold bracelets rattling when we draw apart. She shoots me her winning smile, fretfully pushing strands of tangled hair back from my face.

"My dear Kay, finally you grace us with your pretty face. You know that I've been worried sick about you." Lara shoots Gordy a look across the table, contempt written across her dainty features. "Has this one been giving you a hard time?"

Gordy has turned as red as Lara's lips. "I wasn't tryin' to give her a hard time—I was just saying if it were me—"

"But it never is, is it, Gordy, darling? Our Kay is taking all the risks and you sit here, criticizing." Lara takes a delicate sip of her drink and crosses one long leg over the other. "Tell me, what have you done for us commoners?"

Gordy grunts. "I can lighten those richies' load as well as anyone. As a matter of fact, just last week I lifted this pretty trinket from a lady down in the market." With a flourish, he produces a soiled handkerchief and triumphantly drops it onto the table.

I snort into my drink and even Edmun has the grace to look embarrassed.

"That's wonderful, Gordy. Handkerchiefs to horses: you are well on your way. Best hold on to that quarry job, though, just in case." Lara bats her eyelashes sweetly and Gordy turns redder still.

The hours pass in an instant, lost among friends and refreshment. I lean against Edmun, laughing until my sides ache and the lantern burns low. Eventually Lara downs the last of her ale and says her goodbyes.

"That's it for me, my loves. I'm off to work." She shoos Gordy away, tugging the train of her dress out from under his feet.

"I'll walk you out," I offer, rising somewhat less gracefully; I follow her to the door.

Several catcalls and whistles follow our progress and Lara responds graciously, flashing her trademark smile and winking.

The air outside is beginning to cool, the streets growing dark and the shadows long in the sun's absence. I stand in the alleyway with Lara as she checks her reflection in a chipped piece of glass, dusting a generous helping of powder over her cheeks.

"You know, Lara, I earned quite a bit today. How about you skip work and we'll go out for a meal? We can get some of that spicy mutton you like," I offer, keeping my tone light.

"You are so sweet, darling, but I can't miss a night's pay."

"Just this one time. Come on, I have more than enough for the both of us."

Lara laughs gently as she tucks her mirror back into her pocket and wraps a slender arm around my shoulders. "I know what you're trying to do, Kay, but I don't need you fretting over me. I'm a big girl, you know."

"It isn't that, it's just..."

"Just what?"

I open my mouth to say something, then snap it shut. I know what I would say if I could. I would tell her that I want to take care of her, protect her the way she protected me when I showed up on her doorstep five years ago. I would tell her that she means more to me than anyone in the whole of this city and that seeing her work the streets breaks my already-bruised heart.

I would tell her, but she's already heard it a thousand times.

Lara smiles a bit sadly and tilts her brassy head. "It's all right, Kay. You don't need treat me like one of your charity cases. Why don't you focus on taking care of yourself, for once?"

Lara's bluntness was amusing when she was teasing Gordy, but infuriating when it is directed at me.

"I do take care of myself."

"You're skinny as a rod and taking ever-greater risks." Her tone borders on scolding. "Barely a day goes by now that I don't hear rumour of the Runner. You keep up this routine and you're going to get yourself killed."

"It's not always going to be this way, Lara. I can do more, I can earn more. If I make one big score, I will have enough to provide for us both and you won't need to go out like this." I gesture vaguely toward the darkened alleyway, my meaning clear.

Lara shakes her head, causing her cheap gold earrings to sway back and forth. "It's a lovely thought, but I know you too well. You win some money and then you piss it away on the beggars and the drafted families and all the other bleeding hearts of the City. You aren't capable of saving yourself, Kay. And I won't have you try and save me."

I bite my lip, unable to come up with a retort. Sighing, she pulls me into a hug.

I wrap my arms around her. "Be careful tonight," I whisper.

She squeezes me tightly. "Enough of your fretting—I'm always careful. Now please, step back. You are distracting my customers and I can't have them thinking that a fine lady such as myself would be seen with the likes of you."

"No, we wouldn't want that." I attempt a hollow laugh.

Lara gives me a small wave as she walks off into the alley, rattling the gold bracelets adorning her wrists and signalling that she is available for the first buyer of the night.

My shoulders slump as I watch her disappear into the shadows, an uncomfortable heat burning in my chest at the injustice of it all. Without the luxury of physical strength, we women are left with a city bereft of choices. Unlike the men, we don't have the option of working in the quarry or enlisting in the army. Lara and I are girls of the street and we must do whatever it takes to survive.

Ignoring the sinking feeling in my heart, I briefly consider ducking back into the tavern, but instead turn and stroll aimlessly through the narrow side roads, taking the opportunity to mentally sort through the day's events. The streets are practically empty at this hour and I enjoy this rare instance of space upon the ground.

I pass an old woman huddled in a doorway and stoop to place my remaining coins in her fist. She looks up at me with sightless eyes but doesn't say anything.

As I walk away, a bout of dizziness reminds me I haven't eaten anything since breakfast. Lara was right: how can I take care of her when I can't even take care of myself?

My patched clothes and the alcohol in my veins are little protection against the cold desert night. I blow on my hands to warm them as I trudge back to the attic, opting to take the long route in order to avoid walking past our old flat. The ash from the fire has long since cleared, but those lost still remain, their ghosts a painful reminder of the commoners' latest rebellion. There was a time when whispers of revolt filled these streets; a time when people grasped onto the hope that the balance of power would be upset and the monarchy would have to pay for what they had wrought.

That hope died in flames.

It is rarely spoken of, now. These days, common people know nothing but hard labour and harsh punishment, while those favoured by the King enjoy riches and leisure. The swift loss of our once-glorious rebellion was enough to bring the commoners back to their knees.

Back to a life where greed is king and nothing ever changes.