8 years ago.

"Let me go, you big-butted blockheads!" Wren Cutforth hollered.

She struggled against the Paragon soldiers, but they ignored her protests. They held her between them, with vice-like grips on her upper arms, and dragged her—kicking, screaming, scratching, and clawing—down the school hallway.

"Unhand me or I'll hurt you!" she yelled, but it only made the soldiers laugh. She was tall for her age, but she was still only eight, and thus no match for the Paragon goons.

Wren seethed with anger. Earlier, she'd been subjected to furtive glances and hushed whispers from the teachers. Then she'd been called to the principal's office, where she'd been told about an "incident" on the Settlement—supposedly "monsters" had attacked, and the mages had closed the tunnel in the fog. What did that mean? Where were her parents? How long would it take them to re-open the tunnel? They had ignored all of her questions, and now here she was, being manhandled by the Paragon.

Fine, Wren fumed. Let's try something different...

She went limp in the soldiers' arms, letting her whole body collapse to the floor. The sudden change in weight made the soldiers lurch back in surprise. Wren seized the opportunity and squirmed out of their grip, taking off down the hall as quickly as her legs could carry her.

Hah! Who's laughing now? She thought triumphantly as she ran, pinwheeling her arms so she wouldn't slip on the slick tiles.

She knew the school like the back of her hand. It took the soldiers half an hour to finally corner her, but by then they were red-faced, sweaty, and very, very angry. She smiled sweetly at them, and received a cuff upside the head for it.

They threw her—rather forcefully—into the back of an idling truck outside. Several sets of lost-looking eyes turned her way. Most were tear-streaked and red-rimmed, puffy from crying. Others were dry and vacant, focused on some unseen point in the distance. Others were tense and on edge, flitting this way and that, as though expecting something to pop out at them.

Wren rubbed her arms. Come tomorrow, they would have big purple bruises.

"You really gave them a run for their money," said the girl to her left. She had flaming red hair, and her face was covered in freckles.

"Thanks," Wren said. "They caught me in the end, though."

The girl shrugged. "Can't win them all."

"Do you know where they're taking us?"

"No idea. I'm Scarlett, by the way."

Wren glanced at the girl's hair and grinned. "That'll be easy to remember. I'm Wren."

"Nice to meet you."

Sobbing came from Wren's other side, and she looked over to see a stocky boy. His face looked years younger than her, but he was already twice her size. He rubbed fists the size of hams against his eyes, tears running down his face.

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked.

He turned to Wren, his gaze pleading. "Have you heard any news? Our parents, are they...are they really...?"

Wren was taken aback. What was he going to say—dead?

"Of course not!" she snapped. "Don't be ridiculous. This is obviously a big misunderstanding. The mages are going to open the tunnel again and we're going to kill those monsters."

"You don't know that," Scarlett said quietly.

For the first time that day, Wren felt an edge of panic. "But they can't just leave them there. I mean, we have ships and weapons and tons of soldiers. We can defeat those things!"

"Not if they closed the tunnel," Scarlett said.

"Well, they have to reopen it!"

"They won't."

The words cut through Wren like a knife. Her heart was suddenly beating very, very fast.

"But my mom and dad are on the Settlement. And my little brother. He's six. He's only six."

She stared at Scarlett, her throat tight. The girl met her gaze, blinking back tears.

A gigantic hand patted her knee. The boy to her right, still sobbed quietly sobbing. Wren took his hand in hers, and took the girl's hand, too.

They fell into silence as the truck thudded onwards, taking them to their unknown destination.

#

The truck lurched to a stop. It swayed slightly as the soldiers got out, slamming the car doors behind them.

The back hatch swung open, blinding them all with stale, artificial light.

"Out you get!" one soldier barked. "And I don't wanna hear another peep about it! Especially from you," he hissed at Wren as she jumped down.

She would have aimed a kick between his legs, but after everything she'd just heard, she didn't have the energy. They were standing in a small auditorium, its walls sterile white and its clean floor squeaky under her boots.

"Into a line, children! Quickly now!" A nurse with a perfectly coiffed up-do clapped her hands and surveyed the group. She tutted, disappointed. "This won't do. Not up to par at all."

She snapped her fingers, and a dozen nursemaids swarmed out of nowhere. They attacked the children with wet towels, combs, and fresh white shirts.

The nurse with the up-do marched through the ranks, rattling off instructions. "I want spotless clothing! Flushed cheeks! Tears and tissues! Poor, innocent children, suffering from the mages' selfish actions!"

Wren cocked her head, confused. "What's this abou—"

They whisked off her dirty sweater—"hey, give that back!"—her hair was wrangled into submission—"stop it, that hurts!"—a warm blanket was wrapped around her shoulders—"but I'm not cold..."

But it hardly mattered what she said. No one was paying attention. They were all operating methodically: smoothing stray hairs, brushing rouge on pale cheeks, and spritzing onion water into eyes that immediately budded with fresh tears.

When the head nurse was satisfied, the children were shuffled up a set of stairs, behind a thick red curtain, and then—all of a sudden—were pushed onto a large stage.

Wren raised a hand, shielding her eyes from the flash of camera bulbs. They were on a raised platform in a big theatre, with a crowd of people jeering at them.

"Please, miss, what's going on?" the large boy from the truck whispered to one of the nursemaids, but she only shushed him.

The noise from the crowd died down, and Wren saw President Emory Glass step onto the stage. She gaped—besides the mages, he was the most famous person in all of Meraki. She'd only ever seen his face on posters, only ever heard his voice on the tinny radio.

In person, Wren thought, he wasn't as impressive as they made him out to be. His face was lined with wrinkles, his skin sallow, and his back slightly hunched.

Off to the side she could see the president's entourage: politicians, advisors, regional delegates, a hair stylist, the press secretary, and, of course, raven-haired Vice-President Tae, the second in command. One of her eyes scoured the crowd, and the other was pure white. Wren had heard that Tae had plucked it out herself, but no one really knew the truth. They called her the Red Queen. Wren shivered...she wasn't afraid of much, but she didn't like wondering how Tae had earned that particular nickname.

President Glass's twin children were in the entourage, as well. They were pale and skinny, the mirror image of one another with limp white-blonde hair and porcelain skin. Their expressions reminded Wren of the others in the truck, and she remembered that their mother—the president's wife—had been on the Settlement, too.

The president took his place at a wooden podium in front of the children. He cleared his throat and spoke into the microphone.

"Like all of you, I am deeply angered and saddened by the events in the Settlement over the past twenty-four hours," he said. His voice seemed cold and emotionless to Wren, and she loathed him for it. "We, as a people, were making tremendous progress. We poured tireless hours of work and incredible resources into establishing a foothold on the mainland. The Settlement was the first of its kind—the culmination of an incredible collaboration across all of Meraki. We were truly building a better future, together."

He paused for dramatic effect. Wren would have rolled her eyes if she wasn't so caught up in his every word. These were the answers she'd been waiting for—finally.

"It is with greatest regret," the president continued, "that the tunnel has been closed."

There was a ripple of gasps from the crowd.

"A swath of beasts attacked the Settlement. They came from the desert. Before we could send in reinforcements to defeat them, the mages closed the gate. They didn't even give us a chance to save our people."

A wave of angry protests.

"I understand your pain. I understand your anger. We, the Paragon, used every tool available to us to force the mages to reopen the tunnel, but they refused. Without a steady flow of resources and supplies from Meraki, the Settlement cannot survive. The mages' intent is clear: they wish to leave our people to die."

Wren was rooted to the spot, barely breathing. It couldn't be. It was impossible.

"I can hardly describe such a loss. My wife, the Lady Sofia, is in the Settlement."

Wren glanced back at the twins. The boy's shoulders were shaking as he cried. He clung to the girl as though she were a rock in a storm. She held him tight, her face stony. It felt cruel for them to be here. It felt cruel for her to be here, and all the others—were they really being used as living props for the Paragon's press release?

The president's voice got louder and angrier. "And I am not alone. Many of us in Meraki have friends and family in the Settlement."

He gestured to Wren and the other children behind him. "These children have perhaps been impacted the most. Every one of them has been orphaned by the mages' cruel act."

His words had the desired effect: many of the children cried out. They were overwhelmed, both by the shocking news and the flood of camera flashes and screaming crowd.

Wren stared, dumbfounded, at the president. The gravity of his words was just skimming the surface—she couldn't take it all in. All she felt was anger—at the mages, yes, but more immediately at the president, for using her grief. For using all of their grief.

This man was not a leader. He was a shameless attention leech without an ounce of compassion in his icy heart.

"Look at their faces!" The president shouted. "Remember their faces!"

Anger welled up inside her—a deep, churning pot that was boiling over. No matter how loudly Wren yelled, she knew she wouldn't be heard in all the clamour. So instead, she used one of the few things they hadn't taken from her: her boots. She tore off a shoe and, with all of her might, threw it at the president.

The boot hit its mark, thwacking him hard in the back. He whipped around, and she was pleased to see his eyes were wide in shock—he couldn't believe that someone had just done such a thing.

Someone seized Wren's arms, holding them tightly behind her back. The president blinked, trying to refocus, and returned to his impassioned bleating.

"The mages betrayed our children! They betrayed us! They betrayed Meraki!" he roared, and the crowd roared with him.

"I swear to the citizens of Meraki, we will not stand for it! We will hunt down the mages! We will make them pay for what they have done!"

#

As the press conference came to a close, the nurses quickly ushered the children back onto the truck. As Wren was about to step inside, a soldier grabbed her by the collar and yanked her back.

The president stormed over to them, his boots making sharp clicks against the ground with each step. His face was twisted in anger as he raised his hand—black ring glinting—and struck Wren with such force that she flew backwards onto the ground.

Pain exploded across her jaw and she gasped, trying to catch her breath. She pushed herself shakily onto her elbows and saw that the ground beneath her was stained red. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. She reached up to touch her lip, feeling the warm trickle of blood running down her chin.

The president seized the back of her shirt and jerked her up to face him. His icy gaze bore into hers, brimming with a fury that made her heart race. For the first time that day, Wren felt truly, undeniably terrified.

"You are nothing," he hissed. And then, with a violent shove, he let her drop back to the ground in a crumpled, bloody heap.

#

The Paragon didn't call it an orphanage, but that's what it was.

The truck that carried Wren and the others wasn't the only one collecting Settlement orphans—not by far. It was simply the only truck chosen for the conference. There were hundreds of children, most from low-class households—with a few notable exceptions (Scarlett being one).

The orphanage was a sprawling property—an old factory that the Paragon had hastily converted. There was a dining hall with lines of tables, several lecture halls, a dormitory lined with cots, and a pitiful play yard, which held a few deflated balls and threadbare skipping ropes. Tall metal fences enclosed the property, imprisoning the children within.

Everything was shades of grey, and there was a constant chill that settled deep into their little bones. Blankets, slippers, and thick socks became currency, bartered with whispers and deft hands while the nursemaids weren't looking.

Maybe the children's shared grief could have brought them together, but living in the orphanage only divided them. In the time between classes and chores and bedtime, factions were formed, allegiances built, and rivalries established. Us became us versus them.

It was a strange, harsh place, but it suited Wren just fine.

She couldn't think of her family yet, couldn't turn her mind to it without a wave of emotion crashing down on her like a raging storm. So she filled her time with mischief. The riskier the task, the better.

She snuck blankets from the storeroom, smuggled heating pads from the nursemaids' quarters, and stole sweaters from the laundry, then turned around and 'sold' them to the other kids. If she was caught—which she was, every so often—she earned herself a rap on the knuckles or a ruler to the rump. Seeing the nursemaids commandeer the goods was always far worse than the physical discomfort of her punishment.

"What's your price?" a child with watery eyes asked her, trying not to appear too eager as he eyed the patchy sweater.

"That depends," she said. "What do you have?"

He emptied his pockets and held out a small toy ship, three hairy hard candies, and some twine.

She pointed at the toy ship. "I'll take that."

The boy nodded eagerly and handed it over.

It wasn't close to a fair price, but she didn't care. She would have stolen the sweater anyway, just for the thrill. Simply giving away the goods would have made her a martyr, though, and she didn't want to cultivate that sort of image. People revered martyrs, and she wanted to be left alone—so she let them have the illusion of a trade.

As soon as the boy left, the sweater already on his back, Scarlett shot her a disapproving look. "Really, a toy? We could've gotten extra pudding at dinner, you know."

Wren turned her nose up at her red-headed friend. "You can set the terms when you risk your neck." However, they both knew Scarlett was doing just that. She was stowing the stolen goods under her cot, since the nursemaids checked under Wren's every night.

"Mmm, pudding..." said the burly boy from the truck, heaving a deep sigh. The trio—Wren, Scarlett, and Teddy—had stuck together since the press conference. Something about the shocking experience had bonded them together. Scarlett and Teddy had even brought her to the infirmary to get her lip stitched up, after the president tore it open. It had left her with a nasty white scar.

"Don't worry, Teddy," Wren reassured him. "We'll have all the pudding we want when we get out of here."

Scarlett rolled her eyes, skeptical. "Uh-huh..."

#

Wren waited until everyone was asleep before she got up. She tiptoed over to a cot on the other side of the room, where the younger kids slept, and found the boy with the tangle of wild black curls. She didn't even know his name, but she'd kept track of him.

The moonlight streamed in through the window, casting a soft glow on his rosy cheeks. He breathed through his mouth: quiet murmurs as he dreamed.

Curled up like this, he looked just like Jonah. The sight made her heart ache.

She slipped the toy into the boy's palm. He instinctively closed his fingers around it and rolled over.

Wren wanted to stay by his side and comfort him, as she had longed for someone to comfort her.

She reached out a hand to touch his shoulder but stopped herself. She forced herself to turn and run back to bed, her bare feet slapping against the cold tile floor. She drew her blanket tightly around her and pressed her eyes closed, hoping sleep would come swiftly and release her from the tidal wave of grief.

#

The next night, Wren snuck out again.

This time, she had her sights set on her ultimate target: the master key in the headmaster's office. The headmaster was a stodgy, wiry man with an impressive moustache and an even more impressive frown. He kept the key in the breast pocket of his robe, which he wore to bed every night.

Wren didn't tell Scarlett or Teddy about her plan, because they would have tried to talk her out of it. But they needed the key—it was their ticket to freedom.

Wren snuck down the corridor, keeping to the shadows. She wasn't wearing any shoes, so that she wouldn't make a sound. She crept across the expansive main hall, took three sets of stairs with swift, agile steps, and followed a long, narrow hallway...until she reached the headmaster's ornately carved door.

She took a deep breath, reaching for the knob...and nearly jumped out of her skin.

A boy appeared in the hallway, his eyes going wide as saucers. He looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him. The boy was chubby, with a soft, round face and bottle-green eyes. Wren recognized him immediately—he stuck out like a sore thumb at the orphanage. He was a loner, his nose always stuck in a book. Unlike her, he never put a toe out of line, never gave the nursemaids any trouble. He was the last person she'd expect to be wandering in the dead of night like this, risking a smack.

The boy didn't shout when he saw her. He only scowled.

Wren pressed a finger to her lips, signalling quiet, then waved him over to her.

"It's after hours," she whispered. "You should be in bed."

"Look who's talking," he shot back. He looked around, vigilant.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "You should go. I have things to do."

He mirrored her movement, crossing his arms over his own chest—but made it look much more awkward (she hoped). "Me, too."

She sighed, frustrated. If he refused to leave, she might have to postpone her mission to another night. "Look, buddy, I'm an old hand at this. Why don't you just tell me what you're after and I'll grab it for you?"

He looked her up and down. "No way! You always get caught!"

The nerve! She would've kicked him in the shin if he wouldn't yelp. "I do not!"

"Do, too!"

She pursed her lips. This annoying boy wasn't just slowing her down, now—he was actively insulting her. "At least I have experience," she said hotly.

He narrowed his eyes at her. She had him there. "The longer we stand here talking, the more time we waste."

"We agree on one thing, then."

They were both silent, waiting for the other to volunteer information. The boy broke first.

"Fine," he said. "I need the master key."

"I need the master key!"

"You want to get out, too?"

"Duh."

"Look," the boy said sternly. "We can't mess this up. If we get caught, they'll move the key somewhere we can't get it."

"True. Which is why you need to stay out here and wait."

"Only for you to run off with it and leave me behind? Please. I'm no fool."

The floor creaked in the distance, making them both jump.

Wren leaned in and spoke in a hushed whisper. "We don't have much time. We need to work together on this, okay?"

The boy opened his mouth to argue, then seemed to think better of it. He nodded. Together, they moved towards the headmaster's door. Wren gripped the handle and, ever so carefully, inched it open.

The headmaster was asleep, snoring loudly in his springy four-poster bed. The remains of a fire burned in the hearth, keeping the room toasty warm.

She scanned the room from the doorway, her eyes finally landing on the long robe. It was hung up by the dresser. The headmaster snorted and turned, making Wren's heart race in her chest—she risked a lot worse than a smack if they were caught.

She met the boy's eyes and gestured to the robe. He nodded, indicating she should go ahead.

Wren slipped into the room, testing the floorboards for creaks before putting her full weight down, while the boy hovered at the door.

She made it to the robe and dipped her hand carefully into each of the pockets...until, finally, her fingers made contact with cold metal. Carefully, she withdrew the heavy copper key. It glinted in the remaining light of the fire's embers. Wren held it up to the boy, smiling in triumph.

He didn't return her smile, only beckoned her back to the door. His eyes were locked on the sleeping headmaster, as though keeping him asleep through sheer force of will.

The key firmly in her hand, Wren padded gingerly out of the room. When she was out, the boy pushed the door closed behind her, careful not to let the bolt make a sound.

"Yes!" she said in a hoarse whisper, pumping a fist in the air.

"Good job," the boy said. "Now put that away and let's go." He started to creep down the hall, not taking a second to celebrate their victory. Wren shrugged and tucked the key into her sweater.

They stole down the hallway together, down the three flights of stairs, and were about to slink through the main hall when the boy held up a hand, motioning for her to stop.

She could hear the pitter-patter of footsteps behind them, coming up fast...

Wren had just enough time to slip the key under the trashcan beside her before the footsteps rounded the corner.

A small girl, barely up to Wren's waist, appeared before them. She let out of a tiny squeak of terror, her watery blue eyes darting between them.

"Shhh!" Wren said quickly.

Godfrey breathed a sigh of relief. "It's just a kid. Thank the fog." He swatted at the girl like a fly. "Get out of here, go on!"

Wren elbowed him in the ribs. "Stoppit! She's scared."

The boy looked at her, incredulous. "She was following us."

Wren got down on her knees, so she was face to face with the girl. "Were you following us?"

"I-I-I'm sorry," the girl managed. "I w-want to c-c-come with you!"

"Back to the dormitory? Sure."

"No. Out of h-h-here."

Wren's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Oh." The girl must've been following them a lot longer than she'd guessed, if she knew they had the master key.

"Well, you can't," the boy said, resolved.

The girl's lip quivered, but she held her ground. "I c-can help!" she insisted. "D-dad always said I had a kn-kn-kn-kn"—her stutter was so bad that she struggled to form the word.

"A knack," Wren offered.

The girl nodded. "For mm...mechanics. I c-can...help you."

Despite herself, Wren felt a pang of sympathy for the girl. She knew what it was like to be alone and afraid. Adding another to their ranks—aside from the impatient boy, who was already pacing, eager to return to the dormitories—would increase their chances of being caught...but they could use all the help they could get, and clearly this girl was resourceful. Maybe she could be an asset to the group.

"P-p-please..." The girl's eyes were pleading. "I'll k-k-keep your secret." She glanced at the trashcan.

"Kid's got good instincts," Wren said, turning to the boy. "One more can't hurt, can it? Just look at her—she's so small."

The girl perked up immediately, beaming appreciatively at Wren.

"Absolutely not!" the boy hissed.

Wren ignored him. "What's your name, kiddo?" she asked the girl.

"A-a-abigail."

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Wren."

The boy sighed, rubbing his temple like he was much older.

"You'll have to be ready by tomorrow night."

"Y-y-yes, of c-course!"

"That reminds me," Wren said, turning to the boy. "What's your name?"

The boy hesitated for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other before finally answering, "Godfrey."

Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. These were confident, assertive: they could only belong to a patrolling adult.

In one swift motion, Wren pulled Godfrey and Abigail around the corner and into the main hall. They hid behind a pillar, frozen to the spot.

The footsteps got closer, bringing with them the orange glow of a lantern. It creaked as it swung, trying to find them.

"I heard you," the nursemaid growled. "You're in big trouble, Wren Cutforth..."

Wren winced. She looked around frantically, but there was no other cover!

"Come out now, Wren! Don't make me find you..."

The nursemaid was so close that Wren could see her shadow in the corridor. She would turn into the hall at any minute, and the pillar wasn't big enough to cover all three of them...

Wren steeled her nerves, trying not to think of the sting on her knuckles, and went to step out—

A small hand pushed her back behind the pillar. Abigail flung herself into the nursemaid's path in the corridor.

"I-I-I'm sorry!" she wailed. "I o-only wanted a g-glass of w-w-water!"

"What's this?" the nursemaid exclaimed. "Silly girl, you know the rules! You can't be wandering the halls at night. Why didn't you fetch water from the bathroom? Stop those tears, now. Stop it. Come now, I said stop..."

Abigail's cries became sniffles. The nursemaid continued to chastise her as they made their way back to the dormitory.

When the lantern's light had faded, Wren turned to Godfrey.

"Still want to go without her?" she asked.

"Hmph," he said.

"By the way, my friends Scarlett and Teddy are coming with me tomorrow. Just so you know." Before the boy could start up another round of protests, she grabbed the key from under the trash can and raced back to the dormitory.

#

The next day started like any other. The students were in the lecture hall, heads bent over their desks, when the headmaster flitted in. His frown was more pronounced than ever as he approached the tutor, patting his robe pockets and making muttered inquiries.

Wren stifled a grin. So he knew the key was gone, but he thought he'd lost it. It was perfect.

Late that night, the group met at the gate under the cover of darkness.

Abigail stood next to Teddy, which made for a strange contrast of sizes. Scarlett leaned against the gate, inspecting her nails in the moonlight. Godfrey wore a large satchel on his back and looked annoyed.

"Where are your packs?" he asked.

"What packs?" said Wren. "We're traveling light."

Godfrey let out a groan.

Scarlett reached into her collar and pulled out a necklace, heavy with precious stones. It sparkled in the moonlight. "These are all the supplies we need."

Godfrey's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his frustration forgotten. "Oh."

"Right, then," Wren said. "Everyone ready?"

"Yes," Scarlett answered, sounding bored. "Let's go already."

Teddy gave a shiver, and Abigail patted his arm, comforting him.

Wren led the way to the gate, the group following close behind. She slotted the key into the lock and, with a solid twist, swung the gate open. She exhaled, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

She grabbed the gate before it could clang against the dirty brick wall encircling the orphanage. One by one, the group funnelled out onto the dirt road.

Wren closed over the gate, leaving it open just a crack, in case any others wanted to follow in their footsteps. She took one last look at the dreary, immense orphanage. "Good riddance."

With that, she ran to catch up with the others, pausing only to drop the key in a pool of putrid water off the side of the dirt road.

#

The children's legs were sore by the time they made it to Kinvarra nearly three miles away, but the city's vibrant energy immediately lifted their spirits.

Despite the late hour, the downtown streets were still bustling with people out and about, enjoying each other's company. Colourful banners hung outside of shops, proclaiming new wares. Food stalls were open, drawing customers in with succulent smells.

The children kept to the shadows—a group like theirs was bound to draw attention, and not the kind they wanted.

Teddy drooled, swooning over every tantalizing snack he could see. "Oh, look! Whelks and cockles! Hot eels! Salted pretzels! Puff pastries!"

"Look!" Abigail giggled. "Lamb testicles!"

"I've never tried lamb testicles," Wren said. "I mean, I know I look like a person who's eaten lamb testicles, but I really haven't."

"We don't have any money yet," Godfrey sniffed, his eyes boring a hole at the necklace at Scarlett's collar.

Scarlett turned away from him with a scowl. "We can't pawn it yet," she said. "It's better if we sell the stones one by one. We'll get a better price that way."

Wren saw the sense in that, but she also knew that the necklace was the one thing Scarlett still had of her mother's. She didn't blame her friend for wanting to keep it intact, even if for just one more night.

She looked around. They were in a land of plenty, where the gentlemen wore lavish coats and the ladies wore frilly silk dresses. They were bound to have heavy purses.

"Give me just a second," she said, shooting her friends a playful wink.

Quick as a fox, she wove around a gaggle of passersby, slipping an inconspicuous hand into one of their pockets and grabbing what she could before darting away.

She collected a folded handkerchief, a notepad, and a pocket watch before she finally found what she was looking for: a pocketbook.

Clutching her prizes tightly, she weaved her way through the crowd and back to the group. They gathered around as she sifted through the pocketbook: there were several crisp notes inside—at least forty dollars!

Abigail caressed a note with her fingers, like she'd never touched real money before. "We're rich," she breathed.

"We should pay for somewhere to sleep," Godfrey said, but the others were too busy deciding over what to buy for dinner.

"Grab what you want, and we'll meet back here." Wren handed the first bill to Teddy, who broke into a huge smile.

The others clamoured around her, excited. She handed them each a bill, and they scattered, off to purchase their delight of choice. "And don't let them stiff you on the change!" she called after them.

"You're drawing attention to us," Godfrey muttered, but he took a bill all the same.

"Don't be a spoilsport, Frey," she told him. He bristled slightly at the nickname, but said nothing. "We deserve it. Only tonight, okay? I won't make a habit of it."

A pause. Finally, he nodded.

"Good!" She hooked her arm around his and marched him over to a stall. "Now let's get a treacle tart!"

#

The sun rose, and the group lay on a hill just outside of the city, clutching full bellies.

"I ate too much," Scarlett moaned.

"Me, too..." Teddy agreed, although his voice was muffled. He lay face down in the grass.

Abigail didn't answer—she was curled into a tight little ball, fast asleep.

"Worth it!" Wren declared, pointing a resolute finger into the air. She couldn't do much more than that—she was absolutely stuffed.

Birds chirped in the distance. The sun was warm, and the air was fresh. Wren closed her eyes and smiled. This was the life.

A shadow fell over her.

"I found a vacant building," Godfrey announced.

"Excellent," said Wren sleepily.

He made a face at her. "I told you twelve treacle tarts was too many, but did you listen? No. And now you're paying the price. You'll soon learn there are consequences to your actions—"

Scarlett groaned. "Can this lecture wait?"

The others gave grunts of agreement.

Godfrey huffed, but relented, plunking himself down on the grass beside them.

Eventually,all five children were fast asleep on the hill, content for the first timesince they'd heard the news about the Settlement.