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PROLOGUEAdena

FIVE YEARS AGO

The biggest man I’ve ever seen is barreling behind me.

Then again, it is likely that I’m exaggerating. Mama always did tell me what a curse it is to be blessed with such an overactive imagination.

I would hate to proclaim that he’s the largest man I’ve ever seen if he isn’t truly worthy of the title. So, I dare a glance over my shoulder, dodging carts and jutting cobblestone beneath the boots swallowing my feet. Mama said I would grow into them. I’m still waiting for that day.

No, that is definitely a giant man. The white maskhe wears leaves the bottom half of his face exposed, displaying red cheeks and a twisted scowl between each panted breath.

A tangled strand of hair whips me in the face when I turn back towards the street sprawled before me. Several curls crawl into my mouth when a rare gust of wind decides to rush down Loot Alley on its way to somewhere far more important. I lift a hand to swipe at the unruly strands, only to be reminded of the very reason I’m running from an Imperial in the first place.

Honey oozes between my fingers, dripping lazily from the sticky bun squished in my palm. I might have gotten away with my first attempt at thievery if it weren’t for the fact that I’d tripped into the very stand I’d tried to steal from.

Unfortunately, it only got worse from there.

I then profusely apologized for stealing before spinning on my heel and running off. This got the merchant’s attention, then the Imperial’s, and now everyone on the market street is bearing witness to the scene I’m causing.

It’s not as though the Imperial – or the king he serves – cares about the overcooked dough I sloppily stole. No, it’s the example that he is chasing. Thespectacle I will become at the bloody post in the center of Loot. Imperials like their whips, and I like my sticky buns. And, for some reason, the starving girl is in the wrong.

Men, women and wandering children jump out of my path, though most look unfazed by the sight of me hurtling past. Looting on Loot is hardly uncommon. Merchants curse as I weave between their carts, though I shout my apologies at anyone who cares to accept them.

This may be the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done.

I mean, attempting to sew a pleated skirt was certainly a daunting task. But the threat that pointy needles pose likely pale in comparison to what this Imperial has in store for me.

I glance down at the sticky bun that is, in fact, feeling like its name suggests.

What has gotten into me?

I shout an apology to the woman scurrying out of the way, likely swallowed up by the sound of her cursing my name.

Hunger. That’s what has gotten into me.

But I don’t particularly like being cursed at. In fact, if most of the people yelling in my direction actuallygot to know me, I’m sure I would make a completely respectable impression under different circumstances.

Hair flinging over a shoulder, I peek at my giant pursuer. Face still red as ever, he charges persistently.

Well, he’s definitely not a Flash, that’s for certain.

When my head swivels back towards the street, it’s glinting silver that catches my eye.

The girl stands in my path, staring curiously at the scene sprinting towards her. Silver hair spills from her head, pouring down her back. And if I make it out of this unscathed, I’m determined to find a fabric of the same shimmering shade.

I admire her hair until it is suddenly right in front of me. She hasn’t moved, and I’m not planning on slowing down. So, without a second thought, I run right into her.

Well, technically, I run rightthroughher.

I phase when our bodies meet, feeling nothing as I pass through her body to the other side of the open street. And I don’t dare look back until I hear a heavy thud hit the cobblestones behind me. I barely catch the Imperial’s face hitting the stones before the girl is bounding behind me.

‘Don’t stop!’ she shouts, not bothering to fight thesmile pulling at her lips. All I can manage is a breathless laugh in response as I focus on forcing my tired legs faster.

We run until she yanks me down a narrow alley, dodging the huddled homeless. ‘This way,’ she orders, continuing to tug on my arm. It’s only after slinking down several shadowed alleyways that we allow ourselves to lean against a grimy brick wall, gulping down equally dusty air.

She looks over at me, and I look over at her.

Something like understanding seems to settle between us. As though loneliness has found its equal.

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