Page 4 of War Hour

Even if I know the kids of the street are tougher than they look, it’s the one thing that never fails to turn my stomach. Surviving in Falland relies heavily on being selfish.

I think back to the vendor who’d stood silently at his stall and witnessed the destruction of his only means to support himself.

Maybe we all would fare better if we didn’t just grit our teeth and keep our heads down. Or is the self-preservation ingrained in us too strong to overcome?

At the end of the alley, the girl stands with her back to the three men, staring at the wall blocking off her exit. When the men reach her, the shortest grips the girl’s hair and yanks her.

I grit my teeth like I’m trying to sand them down flat.

They wouldn’t continue if they knew the guard was so close—not over a lump of measly bread.

I don’t know what makes me act. Maybe it’s the girl’s resemblance to me appealing to some selfish tendency, or the lingering shame at walking away from the defenseless vendor?

Either way, my feet march toward the alley before I make my decision.

The stubborn lookon the girl’s face wills me into action. Cornered by men who are twice her size and weight, the girl stares down her nose at them as if they are wasting her time.

I half expect her to roll her eyes.

In a smooth motion, she grabs the hand holding her hair, twisting it until it forces the man to let go or risk snapping it. She’s out of their grip before I pass the alley entrance.

The three men opposite her look familiar, faces I’ve likely seen in passing, but nothing beyond vague recollection. Tracking any exposed skin, I see no sign of Trial tattoos, confirming my suspicions. They aren’t of the Guard, or any other group of Trialed.

These men might be nuisances, but they would listen to reason. Everyone fears Trialing; thus, everyone avoids the Guard. It’s the one thing you can trust on Falland’s streets—what keeps people in line.

The man with the bloody, broken nose steps forward, growling in the girl’s face. “Didn’t think you’d really get away with it, did ya, girl?”

The girl really does roll her eyes, and even down the alley, I can hear her snort. I bite back the smile curling the corner of my mouth and slow my approach.

“Original,” the girl scoffs as she leans back, resting her upper back on the brick wall and crossing her legs at the ankle. Confidence rolls off her in waves as she picks at her nails, bread tucked under her arm, completely unfazed by the men who look ready to rip her apart.

They falter at the girl’s casual attitude. As they exchange a loaded glance, it’s obvious they don’t know how to respond. Faces reddening, in either anger or embarrassment, the men continue without acknowledging her retort.

“I’ve been itching for a fight, so maybe I should teach you a lesson.”

The brutes on either side of the leader must be all muscle and no mouth because they’ve yet to say a word. But they stepforward, cracking their thick necks and balling their hands into fists.

The girl smirks at the threat, reaching out to the side before waving toward herself. “I’m ready when you are.”

My eyes nearly bulge out of my head at her audacity, practically begging the brutes to hit her. Who knows how she lasted on these streets with an ego like hers? Either way, stupidity doesn’t mean she deserves a beating.

Clearing my throat, I pass the men, edging myself between them and the girl. My gaze meets hers, and her eyes widen.

For a moment, it’s as if she recognizes me but then she shakes her head, muttering, “Stay out of this.”

Furrowing my brows, I’m taken aback. I can understand her hesitancy. Even I would rarely trust a helping hand in Falland but not in a fight where I’m bound to lose.

Turning on my heel to face the men, I announce with a tremble of confidence, “Now I don’t want to assume what was about to happen”—I cross my arms—“but I should warn you, the Guard was just in the market.”

Even the two morons staring vacantly at me perk at the name of the guard, anxiety flaring across their faces as they look to their leader.

No one would pull anything as obvious as starting a fight when they risk being caught.

“That’s a good point, Roebin. The market is only a few blocks—”

“No,” the bleeding man, Roebin spats. “This brat broke my nose.” His eyes narrow into slits as he peers past my shoulder to the girl standing behind me. “She’s not getting off without punishment.”

Before I have the time to regret stepping in, the two brutes rush forward, each latching onto one of my arms. Without hesitation, I try to throw them off balance, using the weight ofmy body to wrench my hands free. They lift me, grips bruising as they squeeze me. My toes skim the gravel near my feet.

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