Soren
The following morning came with a sharp, biting scent of frost. Soren had just finished hauling the sacks of winter wheat from the cellar.
Milla had offered him a doughnut, but he had refused. That wasn't his priority. He was finding his small orange fox.
"I have to go back," Soren mumbled to himself as Noa descended the stairs with a bucket of water. "Pip won't be able to eat if I'm not there.
Noa paused. The boy looked exhausted, but his concern for a stray animal seemed to soften the "monster" rumours Noa had heard his whole life.
"The Wardens are thick as thieves near the Great Stair today," Noa whispered, looking back toward the kitchen.
"I'll go through the back service alleys," Soren insisted, pushing himself up. His shoulder protested as the place where he'd hit the stone days ago was stretched, but he forced himself to stand.
As he moved toward the back exit of the cellar, he noticed Noa struggling. The younger boy was trying to hoist a massive, rusted iron grate that led to the oven flues. It was jammed with soot and old grease, and Noa's thin arms were shaking with the effort. If the flue wasn't cleared, the morning's bread would smoke out the whole street and draw the Wardens right to their chimney.
Soren stepped behind Noa, his hands finding a grip on the frozen iron. With one steady heave, the grate groaned and slid free.
Noa tumbled back, panting, staring up at Soren in surprise. "I've been fighting that thing for three days," the boy admitted, wiping a streak of soot across his forehead.
Soren just nodded. "Milla told me to do the heavy things. That was the deal."
The main alleys are watched, Soren. You're too tall to hide behind a trash bin."
Soren started to protest, but Noa cut him off.
"I know the docks well," Noa said. "I deliver food to the pipe-fitters every Tuesday. There's an old, dry maintenance pipe that runs from this bakery's coal shed all the way down to the lower cliff. It's tight, but it's a straight shot. No Wardens. No stairs."
"I'll go alone," Soren said.
"You'll get stuck or take a wrong turn into a steam vent," Noa shrugged, already heading for the hidden crawlspace behind a bin filled with coal. "Besides, I want to see this fox."
Soren hesitated. He knew he was breaking her rules by leaving, but the thought of Pip alone was too much to bear.
"Keep low," Soren commanded, his voice deep and protective. "And if I tell you to run, you don't look back. Not for me. Not for anything."
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The air in the shack was colder than the tunnels, smelling of wet iron and ozone. Soren and Noel burst into the room, their lanterns cutting through the haze that had settled over the room.
The sight that met them made Soren's heart stop.
Curled in a small, shadowed corner lay Pip. The fox's vibrant orange fur looked dull in the gray light, his tail tucked tightly over his head, his small body shivering violently against the frozen air. The bowl of water Soren had left was a solid block of ice.
Soren rushed forward, dropping to his knees. He gathered the small creature in his arms, feeling the terrifying lightness of the fox's frame.
"I'm so sorry, Pip," he whispered, his voice trembling as he pressed his forehead against the fox's ears. "I left you alone for so long. You must've been so cold."
Pip let out a weak whine, his eyes fluttering open just enough to recognize his human. With a final, shaking effort, the fox pressed his nose into the heat of Soren's chest, his tiny paws kneading at Soren's tunic.
Soren didn't waste another second. He unzipped the heavy wool lining of his jacket and tucked Pip inside, right against his heartbeat. He could feel the fox's shivering begin to subside as his own body heat transferred to the animal.
"Let's go," Soren said, standing up and turning to Noel.
But Noel wasn't looking at the door. He was holding his lantern high, pointing it toward the back corner where Soren's sleeping mat lay.
"Soren," Noel whispered. "Did you leave your place like this?"
Soren turned. His stomach dropped. The shack had been ransacked. His pile of spare clothes had been shredded, the floorboards near the icebox had been pried up with a crowbar, and the wall where he kept his father's old fishing cap was scarred with deep, jagged knife marks.
"The Wardens," Soren breathed, his hand instinctively covering the violet lantern at his hip.
"No," Noel said, picking up a small, discarded shard of glass from the floor. It was stained a faint, sickly purple. "Wardens use iron clubs and heavy boots. This looks like... like someone was trying to find where the violet light comes from."
A heavy thud sounded from the roof of the shack, followed by a loud scraping.
"We have to move," Noel hissed, grabbing Soren's sleeve. "Now!"
Soren tucked his chin down, shielding Pip with his arm, and followed Noel back into the dark mouth of the drainage tunnel just as the front door of the shack was kicked off its rusted hinges.