Helletta steps through the twisted remains of the cell door and into the corridor, where a cluster of stunned guards stands frozen in surprise. They part instinctively as she strides forward, their faces a mixture of disbelief and wariness. By the time they had arrived, the stranger was long gone, leaving her as the only possible culprit. They must think she did it—that she, somehow, had ripped the door from its hinges.

  For a moment, she considers explaining, clearing up the misunderstanding. But then, a mischievous thought glints in her eyes, and she shrugs, saying nothing. Let them wonder, she thinks, and she continues down the hallway, their confused stares following her as she walks away.

  Descending the winding stairs, Helletta reaches the main floor and stops outside a door marked with the heavy brass sign: Lieutenant’s Office. She hesitates briefly, then opens it to find the Lieutenant standing by his desk, hunched over a receiver. His hands shake as he holds the capsule to his ear, his face drained of color. The urgent words spilling from the receiver are garbled and frantic, indistinct but intense. Whatever he’s hearing, it’s shaken him badly.

  At the sound of the door, he spins around, the receiver slipping from his fingers, eyes widening as they settle on her. He stares as if he’s seeing a ghost.

  “Sir,” she begins, her voice calm and steady, “I’m just here to ask where you parked my Helsuk.” She steps closer, folding her hands politely. “It belongs to my master, and he’ll be upset if it’s taken. The thing’s already banged up from this morning’s hunting, and that alone will set him off—I don’t want to make his evening any worse.”

  The Lieutenant blinks, still visibly rattled, then clears his throat, his voice barely steady. “Your Helsuk is at the docking station on the eastern end of the city,” he mutters, waving a trembling hand in the general direction.

  “Thank you, sir,” she says with a small, courteous nod, and turns to leave, feeling his eyes boring into her back as she exits.

  Once outside the precinct, Helletta pauses, blinking in the bright afternoon sun. The narrow street ahead is bustling with people, carts, and the low hum of traders’ voices echoing through the lanes. There’s a liveliness to the scene, the sunlight drenching the marketplace in warmth, every surface casting a golden glow that brings out the colors and sounds of the city. She wanders over to the railing that lines the edge of the sidewalk and leans against it, looking down at the water below, the waves glinting and restless under the sun’s light.

  She stares at the water, her mind drifting back to the stranger’s words. The notion that she didn’t need her master’s permission to enter the festival, that all it took was a simple act of delegation—whether by her own hand or another’s—troubles her in a way she can’t quite place. It’s a thought that feels dangerous, one that stirs an unspoken conflict deep within her. She could feel the rebellious spark the stranger had lit, but she wasn’t sure what to do with it. As her gaze lingers on the shifting waves, only one image comes to mind—the face of her master, stern and watchful, his words of caution like stones sinking into the depths of her memory.

  Helletta slipped her hands into her pockets, her steps steady as she made her way down the narrow street toward the docks where her battered Helsuk waited. The city bustled around her, a noisy hive of traders, street hawkers, and townsfolk, all squeezed into the market road. The air was thick with the scent of spiced meats and fresh fish, and the occasional shout of a trader pierced through the general din. Helletta threaded through the crowd, keeping her gaze forward, her mind wandering to thoughts of her Helsuk and the repairs it would likely need.

  From somewhere behind, a sharp shout cut through the noise, and Helletta turned instinctively. Her eyes found the source: a girl about her age, sprinting down the crowded street, her small frame weaving desperately through the throng. Slung over her shoulder was a tattered satchel, which she clutched with both hands, as if holding onto her life. Behind her, two city guards were in hot pursuit, their shouts drowned by the clamor of the crowd.

  Helletta recognized the situation immediately. The girl had stolen something, no doubt. There was a certain look in her eyes, a wide-eyed determination that spoke of desperation and hunger. It was a look Helletta knew well, a feeling that clawed at her now as her stomach rumbled, empty and aching. She was worn out from the morning’s hunt and low on funds, and for a moment, she considered slipping through the crowd herself, taking something small—a loaf of bread, maybe, or a handful of dried fish—just to hold her over.

  She slowed her pace, glancing back as the girl drew closer, the guards barreling behind. Helletta waited, intending to let them pass so she could slip something unnoticed into her own pockets, confident as ever that she’d go undetected. She rarely got caught; she was too quick, too careful.

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  But the girl’s frantic eyes locked onto Helletta as she neared, and in a swift, desperate move, she veered, diving behind Helletta and clutching her shoulders, cowering just out of the guards’ reach. Helletta’s heart skipped in alarm, her eyes narrowing as she realized the girl’s plan. This thief, a stranger, was using her as a shield, positioning Helletta between herself and the guards, hoping her innocent bystander routine might discourage their chase.

  Helletta groaned, casting a glare over her shoulder at the girl, muttering a low curse. She could already tell this wasn’t going to end well—trying to drag an unwitting stranger into a chase never worked. In her own experience, it only complicated matters and drew attention.

  The guards caught up, their breath coming in sharp, heavy pants as they came to a halt just in front of her. One of them—a tall, wiry man with a scar across his cheek—reached out, hand extended to grab the girl. But as he did, his gaze landed on Helletta’s face, and recognition flickered in his eyes. He stopped abruptly, blinking in surprise. His partner, noticing his hesitation, glanced at Helletta as well, and the two of them exchanged a silent, weighted look.

  They didn’t say a word, but Helletta could see it in their expressions. They knew who she was—the girl who had pulled up the corrupted Servhal that morning, the one who had somehow walked out of the precinct’s cell as if the bars had opened for her. She could see the tension in their stances, the flicker of doubt, the nervous glances between them.

  With beads of sweat forming on their brows, the guards straightened and, to Helletta’s surprise, each gave a respectful half-bow. Then, without another word, they turned and walked away, disappearing back into the crowd.

  The girl stared after them, eyes wide, her mouth slightly open in disbelief. She turned back to Helletta, astonishment etched across her face.

  The girl’s stunned gaze flicks between Helletta and the retreating backs of the guards, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. She turns back to Helletta, still processing the strange encounter. “What did you do to them?” she asks, her voice full of awe.

  Helletta sighs, exhaustion pulling at her every muscle. She’s hungry, broke, and worn out from a day that feels twice as long as it should. She shrugs, casting the girl a weary look. “Just be thankful they’re not bothering you anymore,” she mutters, turning on her heel and starting to walk away.

  As Helletta weaves back into the market crowd, she catches snippets of whispered conversation trailing in her wake. Two shopkeepers, chatting with quick, excited voices, exchange glances as they mention her name. “That’s the girl who caught the corrupted Servhal this morning!” one says in a hushed tone. “Did you hear?” another chimes in, “I heard she broke out of the precinct by single-handedly taking down an entire squad of guards!” The rumor seems to spread as fast as wildfire, each passerby adding a little extra drama to the tale until it feels like the whole market is buzzing with exaggerated stories about her impossible feats.

  Helletta grimaces, feeling eyes on her as she slinks further into the marketplace, hoping for some corner of quiet, some darkened alley to disappear into. Her stomach rumbles again, louder this time, and the temptation to take something quick and edible grows harder to resist.

  Meanwhile, the girl watches Helletta’s every move, her curiosity piqued by the gossip circling through the vendors. She tightens her grip on her satchel and takes off, weaving through the crowd as she pursues Helletta. Helletta notices the girl following her and, huffing in frustration, breaks into a brisk jog. But the girl keeps pace, darting through gaps in the crowd with a persistence that leaves Helletta dumbfounded.

  Helletta quickens her stride, glancing back over her shoulder, expecting to see the girl slowing down. But there she is, right behind her, relentless in her pursuit. Just moments ago, this girl had been on the verge of collapse after her run-in with the guards. Now, Helletta wonders, how does she still have the energy to chase her down?

  Finally, Helletta rounds a corner, spotting a narrow space between two stalls, and she ducks inside, pressing herself against the wall, hoping to avoid her persistent shadow. She takes a deep breath, just starting to relax—when the girl pops up directly in front of her, eyes wide with excitement. Helletta jumps, letting out a small gasp.

  “You’re the monster!” the girl says, her voice both impressed and accusatory, as if the word holds a mysterious fascination.

  The word hits Helletta like a slap, and she tenses, the sting of that word cutting through her exhaustion. “Leave me alone!” she snaps. “I’ve had a crappy day, and the last thing I need is anyone else bothering me!”

  The girl—unfazed by Helletta’s outburst—fumbles in her satchel, her face alight with excitement. She pulls out a small package, unwrapping it to reveal a piece of roasted fish and a handful of baked biscuits. She extends the food toward Helletta, her expression warm and inviting.

  Helletta hesitates, her stomach twisting in hunger, but she crosses her arms. “I know better than to take food from a thief,” she says, eyeing the offering warily. “You might give me something now, but I bet you’d take something bigger in return later.”

  The girl grins, unfazed by the accusation. “Ella,” she says, by way of introduction. “I’m the chemist and banker over on Sommer Street. And you’re right—I do want something. But I think it’s something you’ve wanted, too, all along.” She holds the food out again, her expression both mischievous and sincere.

  Helletta stares at her, curiosity warring with caution, the tempting scent of roasted fish filling her senses as she weighs the girl’s words.