I’m halfway through the market when the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I rub them with my hand and lift my head. No one has noticed me, no one stares. Swallowing, I continue on, shoulders tense. It’s a strange but familiar feeling that something is wrong. That I’ve forgotten something, or that I’m late—
Grodd.
I spy him across the way in a narrow alley between the launderer and leather repair. The way the shadows fall, the way the lamplight gleams across him, makes him look like a feral cat, eyes aglow, joints poised and ready to strike.
A tremor of fear pulses through my body. Quickening my pace, I pull my braid over my other shoulder as though it can shield me from that glare, but more than my face can give me away in a place like this. I think I’m almost safe when, from my periphery, I see the shadows move.
Grodd is following me.
Oh stars. I hasten my steps even more. I just need to get back to the apartment . . . but Unach and Azmar might not be there, and I have no trust that a trollis, especially one of Grodd’s size, couldn’t get past that lock. And if I move aside for every trollis going the other way, he’ll catch up to me.
Would anyone stop him? He might be only a Pleb now, but I am without rank. I am the lesser species here. Weren’t the trollis ready and willing to kill Colson for his infraction? Didn’t Unach say that all trollis have fought humans, so casually that she might as well have been speaking of crushing roaches?
I grab the handle of the first door I reach and slip inside. It’s a small wainwright’s shop, just enough room for three trollis on one side of a narrow table and two on the other. The trollis manning the table within is older, his hair white, his face wrinkled, his massive back humping. He glances up at me, dismay in his face. “What’s your order?” he snaps.
“I—” I wring my hands together. “I don’t have—”
“Then get out!” He mumbles something under his breath and returns to his lathe and spoke. When I don’t move immediately, he picks up the latter like it’s a cudgel. “Didn’t you hear me, louse?”
I step outside.
Grodd is twenty feet away.
My thoughts cluster into knots, my heart gallops like a warhorse, my skin sweats as though that giant clock were the sun.
I dart down the next tunnel, vaguely recognizing it as the path to the military training grounds. A guard comes up the other way, and when I don’t immediately move aside for him, he shoves me with his forearm, the bony spikes bruising my skin. I teeter and hit the stone wall, then continue onward, trying to look small. If I can find a crowd of trollis, I can hide among them—
I stop short, knowing that going into the training grounds will get me in trouble. But if I’m in the dungeon, Grodd can’t get to me. Or can he?
Backtracking, I take the next offshoot going down and east. It’s empty, so I rise up on my toes and sprint. I just need to hide. I wrap around military storage, which two trollis guard, and pass the food stores. Next should be Engineering, but this corridor juts to the right and forks off, and when I take the path I think will lead to Engineering, I end up at a drop with a lift and several ladders. The lift is in use, so I take a ladder. When I turn to descend, I see Grodd coming around the curve in the tunnel, his face alight like fire, his hands forming boulder-like fists.
A sob chokes halfway up my throat as I scrabble down. My fear bubbles up like vomit. I could just release a tendril, just enough to slow him down . . .
I’ll throw you into the canyon myself.
I grit my teeth and keep going, my lungs beginning to burn. I’m not sure where I am, but it might be Deccor housing, judging by the clothing. I see a woman watching a trollis child and rush to her.
“I’m so sorry, but can you hide me?”
Her expression opens. “You’re the one from the tournament.”
I glance over my shoulder. “Yes. Can you hide me?”
Her expression closes. “I’ll not break the law if you’re fleeing the task force.”
“I’m not—” But I check again, and Grodd stalks toward me like he has all the time in the world. I couldn’t hide here anyway, not anymore.
So I run. Anywhere, as long as it’s away. Up, down, left, right, wherever there’s a clear path. I run as hard as I can, stone and brick passing under my feet, lights flying overhead. The lamps grow smaller, with more and more space in between. The sound of metal echoes through another atrium as I dart down a long bridge-like platform. I barely register the school in the distance as I slip between two more trollis, one of which curses at me as I fly by. I enter a narrow corridor. Darkness envelops me, and for a terrifying breath I don’t know where I am or where I’m going, and I’m forced to slow. My lungs work like bellows and my calves burn like new embers. When I see a glimmer of dull lamplight ahead, I hurry toward it and nearly topple over another drop, barely catching myself with windmilling arms.