Each cramped room he checked was void of any coin. When he went outside to scour the tents, he not only came up empty again, but he was chased back inside of his dwelling by a mad man cackling along the street.

“Out of his fucking mind he is,” he muttered.

The twitch in his neck returned, as it always did when he went without his preferred drug for too long. He crushed up an entire petal before sprinkling bits of it onto his tongue. It made him gag, but he knew it would feel good soon, and the twitching and the headaches would stop. The only problem was, he was down to his last few petals. Coins were what he needed. Without them, he could not buy what kept him alive.

Footsteps echoed down the grimy hallway before stopping in front of the open door.

“Shia!”

His best friend stood before him with a bag of food, his mouth a grim line as he regarded the smashed dry petals littering the table top.

“What are you doing, Rowan?” Shia asked monotonously.

Rowan scratched the itchy, scaly skin on his cheek. Crusty scabs fell away, causing him to grimace.

“Uh, the usual. You finally made it back.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a good thing too. I’m starving. Did you get the onion crisps? From the old lady in the corner stall who fries them up, was she there this time?”

“No.”

“Ugh. Damn. Did you at least manage to avoid that madman running down the street?”

Shia sighed heavily. “What madman?”

Rowan giggled. “So he’s left then. You’re lucky.”

Shia set the bag down on the floor near the foot of his cot. Rowan’s cot was right beside his. Besides the small table at the center and the overflowing dresser in the corner, it was all they could fit into this room, where they were packed in with dozens of other tenants in other rooms similar to this one throughout the shitty building.

Shia was about to leave when Rowan called him back.

“Hey wait a moment, Shia. Hey.” He scurried over to his friend, almost tripping on the annoying crack in the old tile. “Do you have any coins to lend me?”

“Why?” Shia asked flatly.

“I need them. I-I need coins.”

“For what? That?” He nudged his chin toward the table, powdered with broken petals.

Rowan shook his head. “It’s not gonna be much this time. Please.”

“I don’t have any coins left for you.”

“But…but you must.”

“No. For the last time. I don’t.”

“Shia—”

“Let me be. I still have some time before I leave for work tonight, and I’d like to spend it alone.”

Rowan wanted to hold Shia back, but it was impossible. His friend had sprouted good muscle and strength over the year. Manual labor will do that to a young man. Rowan was no match for him. During the day, Shia worked in the construction zone. In the evenings, he traveled to the western part of the city to serve and clean for the wealthy patrons that lived there.

They had lost their home and most of their families, but time kept on, so together they survived with the few friends they had left. Shia grew into a sturdier man whereas Rowan had become weaker. He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t stop the shitty habits that kept him this way. He didn’t even understand why he had started it in the first place.

Shia yanked his arm away and regarded him with a disdainful scowl. It was something he did often now, and it instilled some fear into Rowan. He feared that one day Shia would have enough of him, and leave him behind to rot in this crap of a city.

“Where are you going?” Rowan asked nervously.

Although Shia managed his own health just fine, he’d been gloomier than ever. Rowan didn’t know what was wrong. It was true that nobody was happy here. But Shia had become a different person. He wasn’t suffering the same type of misery that everyone one else here was suffering—caused by the massive population, the horrible living conditions, and the corrupt and depraved running the streets.

But Shia didn’t seem very bothered by any of it. Something else plagued him. Something he wasn’t telling Rowan. It had been this way since they hitched the caravan and left Pria.

“The roof. For a smoke,” Shia grumbled, wiping some sweat that had accumulated on his forehead.

Rowan frowned at the object that glinted on his friend’s smallest finger. “Hey…”

“What?”

“What do you have there?”

Shia glanced at his ring. The colorless stone was scraped.

“It’s nothing,” he answered.

Rowan was getting desperate. “Is…do you think it’s worth anything?”

Shia sighed. “No, Rowan. For you, it’s worthless.”

He disappeared down the hall. Rowan sat on his cot alone, somberly listening to the creaking steps leading up to the roof. Everything grew fuzzy and warm and nice, and soon he was wondering why he had ever been moody at all.

Zara stumbled into the darkness that was the back of the stage. She blinked rapidly, her eyes having a poor time adjusting to the dimly lit space. Her vision was getting dizzier by the minute. Her gaze landed on a dresser and for a good moment, she thought she’d been transported back to her old bedroom in Pria, and her heart lurched. The design of it was such an uncanny resemblance. Except this was not her bedroom, and that was not her dresser.

“Ugh, let go,” she slurred. “You’re holding me too tight.”

“You’ve had more than a bit to drink,” Saren groaned, clutching Zara’s arm harder. “If I let you go, you’ll topple.”

“So let me topple.”

“Why?”

“I’d let you topple.”

Saren clicked her tongue, agitated. “What is the matter with you? Is this how you really see me, Zara?”

She let Zara go, which caused her to stagger forward. She eventually regained her balance and saw Saren standing directly in front of her, arms unhappily crossed. Revan and Rubi were further ahead of them. Rubi was touching Revan’s sleeve as though they were an intimate couple already. Which later tonight they would be anyway.

Revan stopped and turned back to them, watching with a quizzical gaze. Rubi looked more bored and impatient than anything else.

“Come on girls, don’t dawdle,” she called.

“Zara,” Saren hissed, “I thought we were friends.”

Zara shrugged, entirely too exhausted to think properly. “Sure. We are.”

“You aren’t acting like it all of a sudden. You are acting as though I’ve done something to upset you. And this can’t be just the liquor speaking for you, now, is it?” Saren huffed. “Back home, we say that the truth always comes out through drunken speech.”

Zara sneered at her. In the back of her mind, she knew she wasn’t being sensible. Old jealously and annoyance of the other woman was quickly resurfacing for practically no real reason. But Zara wasn’t in the mood to be rational at the moment. Her emotions always had to be buried in rubble, while everybody else got to wear their hearts out so openly. Well why was this? Why couldn’t she be encouraged just the same?

“Well, you are not home, are you Saren? None of us are really home. And according to you and your freak visions, I’ve never been home in my entire life.”

Saren’s gaping mouth was large enough to hop through. It almost made Zara chuckle.

“What are you saying, you crazy girl?”

“What I’m saying? How about everything you’ve been saying—”

A near-violent poke to her collar almost made Zara fall over. Revan was beside them, glaring.

“What’s the matter, here?” he demanded to know, annoyed.

Saren scrunched her face. Zara did not miss her eyes flitting back as Rubi approached them as well. “Revan, she’s drunk. I think we should just go to the inn.”

Zara giggled. “Oh, and leave his new nighttime lover behind? Is that not too convenient for you Saren—”

She was met with a harsh pinch to the arm.

“Ouch, Saren!” Zara gasped, rubbing the sore spot.

“Cry louder Zara,” Saren shot back.

“Keep quiet you foolish girls,” Revan said through clenched teeth.

Rubi eventually arrived by Revan’s side. “How much has the thin one had to drink?” she asked, amused. “It couldn’t have been much. Can she not keep her liquor?”

“No,” Revan grumbled.

Rubi threw up her hands. “Well, we might as well get this over with and get her back to my place where she can sleep it off. She may not remember much later. What a waste.”

“Oh no, Rubi, thank you for your generosity but we have accommodations elsewhere.”

“Nonsense. You’ll all be staying with me. I have plenty of space. Besides, there isn’t any point sending the girls off alone without you now is there? The streets aren’t very safe in the late night.”

“That is quite alright,” Revan insisted. “Zara will be fine. We do not wish to trouble you.”

The stout woman’s lip curled. The strangely familiar sight of such an expression made Zara’s spine shudder. “It isn’t trouble. Believe me on that. My residence is not far from here.”

“But—”

“Revan.” Rubi arched a serious brow. “You are staying, and so are these fine girls. Now please, time is slipping.”

Revan groaned, but he relented. “Alright, fine. We will stay. But before anything, may I please tend to Zara first? I have something that may aid her drunken state.”

He pulled Zara into a corner. Zara still wasn’t entirely sure what her surroundings looked like. There were only a few lamps on the walls, so it was difficult to see properly. But it was noisier in the next room.

Zara leaned toward the friendly noise in anticipation. To meet a real actor, or a dancer, was exciting. But then Zara remembered that she had met a dancer already in the past. And that night had not ended well at all, mainly because of said dancer and her friends. Her gloomy attitude returned.

“Do not drink any more alcohol tonight,” Revan scolded lowly. “Try your best not to make an even greater fool of yourself.”

“Are you really going to sleep with that fat old hag?”

Another pinch, this time to her other arm.

“Stop it!” Zara yelped.

“Of course I’m not going to lie with her, you daft woman!” Revan growled. “Don’t hurt your skull thinking too hard about this. I’ll handle her my way.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his trusty little bag of medicinal potions. He parted the strings, and it grew in size, as it usually did.

Zara pouted. “What are you going to do to me now?”

“Hush.” He felt around the inside of the bag and shortly came out with a vial of dark blue liquid. “Drink this. It will steady you. But do not dare take another sip of wine after this.”

“Why?”

“Because you may die. Now hurry.”

Zara drank only half the liquid before retching.

“Good enough,” Revan muttered, quickly taking the vial and shrinking the medicine pouch back to its tiny form.

“What’s going on?” Rubi said. “Is she okay?”

“Yes, yes. Let’s head on,” Revan assured pleasantly, dragging Zara back to the other women. This time, he made sure she remained close to him, even going as far as to link his arm with hers, which made neither Rubi or Saren very happy.

“Here we are,” Rubi announced plainly, stepping into a vast room full of costumed people in front of full-body mirrors and vanity tables.

Zara was struck in a silent awe at the chaotic sight. Colorful clothes, jewelry, scarves, and props were strewn about the place. Crowds of actors chattered while touching up their face paint, dancers rehearsed their steps and adjusted their dresses, and backstage workers passed around cups of water or helped actors into their costumes. The air was permeated heavily with an assortment of perfumes.

Saren coughed, fanning her face. But Zara—thanks to Revan’s mysterious potion—was able to take it all in with a clear mind. This was real-life show business.

What stood out to Zara most was how different everybody looked from one another. Some were heavily adorned in fancy royal garb while others were more bare and mystical. A few costumes were plain, like that of peasants. A group of bulky men gathered at the back of the room, their bodies painted in red, blue, or black. Their faces were covered with masks that reminded Zara of the demons her mother used to tell her about when she was little—the ones who only showed themselves to the most damned of souls. If she kept herself good and pure, she would never have to see them in life or death.

Zara was very curious as to what Rubi’s show was going to be about. But she needed to work up the courage to ask. The contents of her stomach swirled uncomfortably.

“As you can see, it is quite hectic in here,” Rubi explained. “My people are very busy. But there should be an actor who is free to answer any questions you may have.” Her smile perked up. “Oh, there is one now! And just the young man I wanted to see, too!”

Rubi waved high at a tall, broad-shouldered man walking toward them. He wore a tight, low-cut sleeveless beige top that showed off much of his lean muscles and wide chest. A red cloth draped his lower regions, reaching down to his knees. Gold bands wrapped his wrists and upper arm, as well as his ankles above his leather sandals. His hair was a beautiful sand color, carefully styled in voluminous waves that hung just below his shoulders.

The man’s face was lowered so Zara could not see it properly yet, but she could already tell that he was handsomely gorgeous. He was getting close and her heartbeat rose, for she was about to meet a good-looking male actor for the first time. She quickly smoothed out the front of her hair and was dismayed to find her skin sweaty. She was also once again upset about being severely under-dressed but she prayed the actor wouldn’t really notice it. She went back to smiling gallantly…until he finally lifted his chin.

If a soul could hurl out of a body, Zara’s would have done so. Whatever smile she put on had fallen through the cracks on the floor.

“What…is this?” Zara whispered. Her eyes were locked firmly on the man that stood before the group, and there was no key to set them free.

Rubi smiled widely at him. “I’ve been waiting for you to stop by, and I do hope you are ready for your part.”

“Yes, Madam,” the man mumbled, making Zara’s crinkling heart lurch.

Rubi planted herself beside the new visitor and turned to face the three of them. “Friends, I would like you to meet one of my newer associates: Emran Mukrov.”