In the years since its fall, much has been written of the City of Inapithe, a fact which should surprise no one. Consider how much of our cultural heritage is derived from it: From the paintings of Salazar, to the ever-popular tragedy “By Painters' Grace,” stories of the City Between Ages clearly still captivate us.

– Richard Cambiot, The Influence of Inapithe on Modern Art

It occurs to Astrid that while her promise may have felt very distant yesterday morning, here, crouched behind her usual building and looking out into the marketplace, it is entirely too immediate.

The market is more crowded than yesterday. Astrid counts eleven people milling around, almost twice that of the day before, in addition to everyone plying their trades. The urge to go home is even stronger than yesterday.

She can't go home, though. She needs the money too badly.

As she did the day before, Astrid fixes her gaze on the baker. His stall is, as always, devoid of any sort of line, and he looks deeply bored. “Hi, my name is Astrid. I'd like to buy some rations,” she whispers. She takes a deep breath in, lets it out, and strides out into the open.

At first, it's not as bad as she expected. Astrid walks quickly, keeping both hands on her bag. No one glances in her direction, and the direct sunlight of the square feels both pleasant and unfamiliar on her skin. She relaxes slightly. This might not be so bad.

She is halfway to the ration-seller's stall, when things go horribly, catastrophically wrong. A woman slides in front of her and begins talking to the baker, who immediately perks up and begins speaking animatedly with her. Astrid freezes mid-stride. A bead of sweat snakes its way down her back. It feels like everyone's eyes are on her, the girl standing in the middle of the square. She's sure they all must be watching, silently judging her. Any second, one of them is going to ask her what she's doing. What should she do, she wonders. Is she supposed to line up behind the woman?

It is in the midst of her increasingly panicky train of thought that the woman in front of her walks away. The baker waves to her, and then turns to look at Astrid, giving her an enormous smile. Astrid swallows ad takes a few steps forward, hoping that he does not notice how badly her legs are shaking.

“Yes, can I help you?” he asks brightly, plainly relieved to see another possible customer.

“Hi my name is Astrid can I buy some rations?” Astrid blurts out, her voice jumping up several octaves up from its usual pitch.

The man nods. “Certainly. That's 65 kett a pound, but I'll knock it down to 60 kett just for you.”

“Right,” Astrid says distractedly. After a few heart-pounding moments of searching her bag, she manages to scrounge up the necessary money. She passes the handful of square coins to the seller, who pockets them without counting.

“Blessings of the Creator upon you.” He hands her a square package wrapped in white paper, stamped with what could charitably be called the seal of Inapithe.

“You too,” Astrid says stiffly, struggling to put the square package in her bag. It's hard as a rock, and just a little bit too wide to fit, and she ends up fumbling with it for longer than she intends.

“Thanks for buying from me. I thought I would be able to make a decent business out of sheer novelty, but turns out that not many people want rock-flavored bread. ”

Astrid makes as noncommittal a noise as she is able.

“I heard exhibition matches for Sentinels start today.”

Astrid's stomach drops. She wasn't prepared to make small talk, not in such a crowded place. She wonders if she can get away with saying nothing She's sure that he must be staring at her by now, wondering why she's not answering, and her hands are getting her bread all sweaty, and she has no idea what to say.

“Didn't know,” she eventually manages. “I'm new to the area.”

The ration seller nods. “I thought you might be. Didn't recognize you. What's your name?”

Astrid gives up trying to shove her bread into her bag, and settles on gathering the package up in her arms instead. “Astrid. I'm Astrid,” she says, already halfway turned around to leave.

“Nice to meet you, Astrid. Welcome to our messy little slice of Inapithe. Remember to tell everyone you meet about Irving's amazing rock bread.”

“Thanks, you too!” she calls. She tries to turn and smile at him and walk away at the same time, and ends up tangling her legs together, and nearly tripping over herself. A hot blush creeping up her face, she half-walks, half-runs back across the square, and ducks into an alley. As she runs, a smile spreads across her face, and by the time she slows to a walk, she is grinning from ear to ear.

She did it. She braved the market, and talked to someone there, and the world didn't end. True, her exit had been more than a little awkward, but she did it. She lets out a happy little sigh and skips a few times, then spins around, clutching her package of rations to her chest. She cannot wait to tell Pell. Maybe tomorrow, she can try talking to two people, or starting up a conversation? Once she's aced the interview for this job, of course.

Astrid is still busy celebrating when the bread slapped from her hands. The white package hits the muddy ground and bursts open, sending a pastel-colored hunk of bread bouncing across the dirty flagstones. The fantasies in her head come to a screeching halt, and she stares blankly at the food at her feet.

“Aww, look who it is, Tove.”

The voice makes Astrid's stomach curl up into a tiny ball. She looks up to see a group of three girls about her age, all dressed in gray jackets. She has come to know each of their faces she has come to know uncomfortably well over the past month.

The one called Tove takes a step forward, pushing her friend who ruined Astrid's bread away. Tove's face is marred by prominent cheekbones and a seemingly permanent smirk. She is the tallest of the three, coming up to Astrid's shoulder but she is built far more solidly, and carries herself with a confidence that Astrid can only envy. As always, Astrid cannot help but stare at her eyes, the irises of which are a dark, ugly gray, likely due to the misapplication of bionics at some point in the past.

“And here I thought we'd never see each other again,” Tove drawls. She closes the distance between them until she is so close to Astrid that she can feel her body heat. “Aren't you going to say hi to me?”

Astrid tries. She really does. When she opens her mouth, however, her voice dies in her throat, leaving her speechless.

“Why bother asking, you know she's a mute,” one of the girls says, rolling her eyes.

Tove appears not to take any notice. “Don't assume, it's rude,” she say sharply. She takes a step forward, placing her palm on Astrid's shoulder. “I think she just needs a little encouragement, don't you?” She gives Astrid a small shove, sending her teetering backward.

Astrid's back impacts the alley wall. Her heart thuds against her ribcage, and her mouth is dry. Inexplicably, her mind jumps to a joke her father once told her: How do you know you're in Inapithe? Instead of beating you up, muggers force you to listen to them talk about the business they're starting up. In this moment, Astrid wishes that it was more than a crass joke.

“Come on, talk.” Tove whispers. “You can do it.” Her tone is light and friendly, but Astrid can sense the teeth behind it.

She tries to say something, but try as she might, when she opens her mouth her voice dies in her throat. The corners of Tove's mouth turns upward, and Astrid bolts, pushing herself off the wall and sprinting down the alley. One of Tove's friends catches her after only a few steps, and wrestles her to the pavement. Her knees impact the ground, sending twin bolts of pain lancing up her legs and causing her to cry out.

“Aw, see, I knew you could do it.” Tove's feet enter her field of vision, followed by her face as she crouches down in front of Astrid. She fixes her with her grey eyes, and her smirk transforms into a scowl. “Now here's how this is going to go. I'm—”

“This seems like fun. Mind if I step in?”

A pair of boots enter Astrid's field of vision. She has only a short moment to process the unfamiliar voice before one of the boots draws back, then swings forward into Tove's jaw. The kick is sickeningly casual, to the point of almost looking practiced, which in itself is almost more disturbing than the way that Tove's body spasms with the force of the blow.

The next several seconds are difficult to keep track of. The girl holding Astrid releases her, and Astrid hits the pavement hard. Someone is shouting, and Tove is curled up into a ball, whimpering and clutching at her face. Astrid rolls to the side just in time to avoid one of Tove's friends crashing into the ground. After a few grunts and the sound of a struggle, the last girl hits the pavement as well. When the noises stop, Astrid cautiously raises her head, ready to duck.

A young woman stands over her, arms crossed and jaw locked in a frown. She is dressed plainly, in a tank-top and pair of cargo pants, with cheap synthetic gloves on her hands. Her face, framed by a shock of short black hair, is entirely neutral, as if this entire situation is completely ordinary. The muscles in her arms and legs are taut and sinewy, yet free of any sweat or dirt from the recent combat.

She raises her eyebrows. “I was right, that was fun. You good?” She does not offer a hand to help Astrid up.

Astrid forces herself to tear her gaze away from the woman's muscles so she can meet her eyes. She doesn't trust herself to say anything, so she simply nods. Her heart has yet to stop thrumming against her ribs. Would it be rude to pinch herself, to makes sure she isn't dreaming?

The woman nods, and spins on her heel. “Cool. Later,” she says, waving over her shoulder.

Astrid has no time to process this before her attention is drawn to Tove. Even though a short period time it has been since she was kicked, Astrid can see her jaw beginning to swell. Tove creeps back to her feet. A glint of metal flashes in her hand, and her grey eyes are murderous.

“Hey,” Astrid whispers. Neither Tove nor the unknown young woman notices her. Tove begins creeping forward, towards the young woman's back, knife in hand. Astrid's stomach clenches, and she scrambles to her feet. “Watch out!” she shouts.

The woman turns around, but not quickly enough. Tove's knife skates across her tank-top with an awful ripping noise, plunging deep enough to break the skin. The young woman blinks at her, then her eyes drift closed, and she topples bonelessly to the ground.

Astrid's hands go to her mouth. For a few moments, everyone still conscious in the alley just stares.

Tove is the first to recover. “Come on let's get out of here,” She murmurs, jogging over to her still-conscious friend and punching her in the shoulder. Astrid notes that the confidence is gone from her voice, and she seems almost fearful.

Her friend looks incredulous. “Tove, you just stuck— Do you even know who that is? If she bleeds out, her friends are going to—”

“I didn't get her that deep! Someone will find her,” Tove snarls, now clearly panicky. “We just don't want to be here when they do. Let's go!” The two of them hoist the third member of the gang onto their shoulders and flee the alley, leaving Astrid alone with the body.

Astrid's breath comes in bursts. Tove just stabbed someone. It's almost unbelievable. Sure, Tove has said some hurtful things to her in the past, but Astrid just thought that was her way of being friends. She didn't even know Tove owned a knife. She clenches her eyes shut, so that she does not have to stare at the body in front of her. Her brain jumps from question to question, never letting her think long enough to answer one. Who should she call? The only person here she knows is Pell. What will the authorities do when they get here? Would they question her, perhaps ask her for her account of what happened?

Her train of thought is brought to a screeching halt when she opens her eyes. The body is gone. Astrid looks around wildly, and spots a familiar boot vanishing around the corner of the alley. That shouldn't be possible; she saw the woman get stabbed with her own eyes. Astrid vacillates back and forth for a moment, then takes off after it, coaxing her shaky legs into something akin to a jog. She turns the corner and spies the woman at the end of the next alley, striding purposefully around another turn.

“Hey! Wait up!” Astrid calls, running faster. She continues pursuing the woman that saved her, ducking through alley after alley until she is thoroughly lost, not stopping even to catch her breath. This continues until she turns into what she prays is going to be the final alley, only to find herself faced with a brick wall, covered in illegible graffiti. Astrid skids to a halt, a stabbing pain in her lungs. She looks wildly around, but none of the buildings here offer any sort of exit. She shakes her head and puts her hands on her knees. Perhaps it had been foolish to try to follow her rescuer, especially considering the lack of food in her stomach.

A small noise makes her look up, and her mouth falls open. The young woman is far above her, ascending the building by means of hauling herself up the brick wall, using only the tiny indentations between bricks as handholds. Her ignorance of the numerous fire escapes around her is so blatant as if to be almost intentional. As Astrid watches, she vaults over the edge of the roof, nearly thirty feet overhead.

It is at this point, Astrid reflects, dropping to her knees and digging through her bag, that any sane person would give up and go home. Unfortunately, she thinks, retrieving a wrench from her bag, she's never been known for her good judgement, and giving up on something halfway has never been in her nature. The thought bothers her, so she reassures herself that a person with truly questionable judgement would invent some sort of grappling hook contraption to drag herself up the building.

Astrid has tried building a grappling hook with which to climb buildings exactly three times. It has never worked out well for her.

Astrid opts for simply hurling her wrench as hard as she can at the nearest fire escape ladder, causing it to come loose and descend to the ground with an almighty crash. As she ascends the fire escape, the ground drops away, leaving her amidst an ocean of roofs. Although she gets to see the chaos of Inapithe every time she climbs down from her apartment, it is different being among it, instead of looking down on it from above. The mishmash of architectural styles is far more jarring. In the early morning silence, the world still feels loud with the way that the every sign screams for attention, and every building vies for space with its neighbors. The sky is thick with cranes, steeples, and seabirds, but still manages to be a pale, half-hearted blue.

On the eve of Astrid's arrival in Inapithe, she spent most of the night crying. She told Pell that the city would never feel like home to her. Pell had smiled, and hugged her. “Inapithe isn't anyone's home. It's just the stone that we carve our homes out of.”

When she finally makes her way up the three stories of rickety metal steps, Astrid is delighted to see that she is not alone on the roof. The woman who rescued her from Tove is standing on the far end of the roof, gazing out across the city. The sunlight frames her body, turning into a shadowy silhouette with a corona of gold. Astrid clambers up onto the slanted roof, taking care not to disturb any loose shingles. She stands up unsteadily, swallows, and takes a deep breath.

“Hi, I'm Astrid. I'd like to buy some— I mean, hi. I'm Astrid.”

The woman whirls. She drops down into a low crouch, placing one hand on the edge of the roof. The motion strikes Astrid as strangely animalistic. “How did you get up here?” She demands in a low voice.

“I... used the fire escape?”

“There was a fire escape?” The woman says blankly. She withdraws from her crouch, but the tension does not entirely leave her stance. A sudden breeze catches her hair, and Astrid could swear her heart skips a beat. “Huh. Oops.”

“I wanted to, um, make sure you're ok,” Astrid says.

The woman crosses her arms protectively over her stomach. “Oh. Well, yeah. It was just a flesh wound. Thanks for calling out, you probably saved me.” The two of them stare at each other, silence stretching out awkwardly. “All right,” the woman eventually says. “I'm just going to... I 'm just going to go. Thanks for warning me about the knife. Tove's going to flip when she finds out.” She makes to leave toward another roof.

“Wait!” Astrid calls out in a strangled voice. The woman stops. Astrid blinks. She wasn't expecting to be listened to, and she isn't entirely sure what to say. Pell's reminder from yesterday pops into her head, and she immediately seizes on it. “I know we just met, and I don't know your name, but you seem really cool, and you saved me, and then I sort of saved you, and I was wondering if maybe we could be friends?” Throughout the sentence she can feel heat rising up her neck in time with the rising pitch of her voice, and by the end of her proposition she is sure that she is blushing furiously, painfully aware of her own awkwardness.

Astrid expects a gentle rebuff or refusal, and as such is completely taken aback by the coldness that instantly washes over the young woman's face. “No. I don't know you, I don't like you, and I don't do friendship,” she says shortly, and begins quickly striding away. Halfway down the roof, she slips, and her arms go up to break her fall. The hem of her tank-top rides up, revealing smooth, unbroken skin where there should be a stab wound.

Astrid shakes her head in confusion. That shouldn't be possible. She saw the knife go in.

The young woman's eyes meet hers for a heartbeat, and they are full of a mixture of fear, anger, and something darker that Astrid cannot quite identify. She wraps her arms back around her midsection and launches herself off the roof, disappearing down into an alley, and leaving Astrid alone among the rooftops.