"Hey," I click my floor safe shut at the sound of Naiomi's voice. "You got a second?"

"I have about a hundred and eighty of 'em before I gotta bounce," I reply. Naiomi steps through the doorway and closes the door behind her. She sits on the bed, tapping her knees.

"How're things going with your team?" Why does everyone keep calling them that? We're just four people caught up in a twisting set of circumstances. I don't even know if I like them yet. Except maybe Esilea. She's pretty cool.

"One hundred and fifty-six," I count, tapping my wrist. She frowns.

"Now isn't the time for your bullshit," she snaps. Now that's the Naiomi I know. "There's a job for you."

"I can't do anymore until I'm healed up. Should only take a couple days," I say. I pop my neck, and shudder with relief. There are so few things in life that feel so good. And joints popping? Gods, that is one of them.

"You won't need your body where you're going." She folds her arms across her chest. Oh no. I don't like the look in her eyes. Can't she just let me rest? Apparently, it's not in the cards. All I can do is take one job after the other. And you know what? I'm starting to get kinda sick of it.

||||||||||

"You're sure this 'Dream Realm' even exists?" Icarus asks. I stop in my tracks and feel the wheels of his chair bump against my calves.

"Have you been there?"

"Well, no. But that's why—"

"I have." I turn to him, pleased to see that Esilea doesn't interfere. She's been coddling the boy since they met, I'm sure. At least Ghelly's got some mettle to him; I should've brought him on this mission. Hell, I shouldn't have brought any of them. I don't know why I offered to take them in the first place. "I've been there. So shut up, and let me do the talking here. Got it?"

"You can't talk to me that way," he says stubbornly, glaring up at me. "I started all of this. I got us together."

"Lotta good that's doing us," I spit.

"You want to go back to the way it was before? Five days ago, you were nothing. Now, everyone wants this team."

"Icarus—" The young inventor interrupts his companion.

"You don't have a say here!" Esilea's face sets like stone. She grabs the handles of his chair and pulls him back.

"We're going back," she says, wheeling him away.

"Let go! You can't take me!" He tries to resist, but she pins his hands with one of hers, and continues pushing. She remains calm all the while.

I sigh and squat down against one of the crumbling buildings. If we're a team, then I'm a prince. I look down at my scarred hands, the herbs and paste I smeared on to cover my burns. I haven't been a prince in a long while.

"Tough day, huh?" An old man takes a seat next to me. His hair is a stark white, and sticks up in every direction. It matches the lines on his aged face.

"Yeah. You're Baer, the Muse, right?" He keeps his eyes on where my lips would be the whole time I'm talking. I get the feeling that even though my face is behind the mask, he can see what's underneath. He nods and shakes my hand. A bit of the paste comes off—I had to apply it quick this morning—and he just rubs it off on his patchy suit.

"It's never easy doing the right thing," he says, leaning back on his hands on the sidewalk. I watch the people in front of me, and he watches me.

"I'm not trying to do the right thing. I'm just trying to survive." I grind my heel into the pavement. "It's all anyone can do in this forsaken city."

"Then why are you here?"

"I haven't got anywhere else to go. Malor is all I've known for so long" Baer shakes his head and laughs deep in his throat.

"You seem like a man with family. I think you have other places you can be. You just don't have anywhere else you want to go," I open my mouth, but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand. "I may have lost my hearing, but I'm not blind. I can see behind the masks you wear. The way your heart beats, the smallest movements of your muscles; I can feel them. I know what your body is wanting and your brain is thinking." He stands, and I look up at him from the sidewalk.

"And what is it that I want, wise old sage?" Every word is layered with sarcasm. Part of me hopes that it hurts him, just the tiniest bit.

"Purpose." He looks down at me and then shakes his head slowly. "And probably to get the boy. He's bound in the alley. Tschüss!" I stare after the old man for a moment, straining to hear the song he's humming above the din of people. I can feel it in my bones, even this far way. I watch him until his white hair has bobbed out of sight.

Wait...what boy was he talking about?