*COMPLETE* Allayria promised to do what it takes to stop the Jarles, to make the ugly decision. She thinks, at last, she understands what the dynast meant. The lesson earned from the top of that lonely cliff and given the dark murky water below.
It...
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"Stop standing." In the murky shadows of a city night, Fae feels a tug on her sleeve and she lowers into a crouch, the heat of another body pressing up on her as Keno slinks to her side.
"You can command me around all you want back at the Tower, but here we play on my terms," he tells her, his voice a low murmur in her ear as two long fingers tap at the fabric beneath her chin. "Pull that up. The last thing we need is someone recognizing you."
Fae yanks the mask up, pulling the fabric until it rests just below her eyes. She feels the hood settle over her head, cocooning her in.
"What's the plan?" she whispers, watching as the kneeling man shifts, his long, angular face leaning forward, turning—watching, listening at the long unseen stretch of road behind the brick corner. In the distance something explodes.
"I've arranged for a meeting with our friend to go over some of his new inventory," he tells her, a thin, silver thing slipping out from his sleeve, twisting in his fingers.
Lockpick, she thinks watching as he runs it between his fingers.
"In that building?" she asks, nodding toward the hulking, empty structure across the way. It's dark and barren, glass strewn across the street and windows vacant holes, gaping out toward them in the hazy twilight.
"Right on, sweetheart." He straightens up a little and she moves to do the same, halting only when he holds a hand up. "Stay low for a moment."
They wait, listening, but there's only ambient, distant noise and the thief glances up and down the street once more before sinking onto his haunches, his back set to the wall.
"There are three things we need to come to an agreement about before we do this," He says, holding up his hand and ticking them off, one by one, with long, pale fingers. "One: when we get in there and case the place you stick by my side. No wandering off, no poking around. You see something funny, you tell me. Two: when I find a place for you to hide you stay there until I give this signal."
He reaches up and scratches the left side of his nose.
"No jumping out before, no seizing any 'opportunities.' If I don't make that signal you don't move. Third: if I tell you to run, you run. No stopping, no lingering behind, no rushing back to 'save me.' We don't play hero here. I say go, you go."
"I understand," she answers, a little peeved to be treated with these kid gloves but still so happy to be outside, happy to have a knife strapped to her leg, a quiver on her back.
"If everything goes to plan you don't need this," he says, reaching out and tapping her bow. "Stick with this." And his hand falls, his fingers pressing at the blade on her thigh.
Their eyes meet.
"Fitting in is the best way to stay alive," he says after a minute, "and no one around here carries fancy bows."
