PART 1

  Just in time, I turned my head and watched as a stranger slipped his hand into another man’s coat pocket, his fingers curling around something too small to see. The streets were crowded, and it was barely past nine in the morning, but that never stopped thieves. If anything, it encouraged them. Still, no one else seemed to notice, or perhaps they pretended not to. So, I did the same.

  Aurora was a beautiful city with its stone streets, colorful brick houses, and fruit trees. But it was also dangerous. Robberies and murders were so frequent they barely made the newspapers anymore. People had stopped fearing them. They had started expecting them. Monsters lurked in Aurora, the kind that didn’t confine themselves to the moonlight. They owned every hour of the day.

  My eyes lingered on the thief’s face for a moment longer, just another one in a hundred. As he scurried away, slipping between carriages and horses moving through the cobbled streets, it was clear this was just another job for him. If I had spoken up, someone might have stopped him.

  Probably.

  Instead, I checked my own coat pockets and stepped closer to my parents, careful to avoid brushing against the people around me. It wasn’t that I didn’t care. I just didn’t want to get hurt. Getting involved was dangerous. I knew that well.

  Justice didn’t exist in Aurora. Criminals came and went as they pleased. The city had a prison, but no one stayed there for long, no matter the crime—if they ever stepped inside it at all.

  “Maybe next time…” My father, Maxen, was talking to my mother about something. Usually, I paid attention and joined in, but today I remained silent, lost in thought.

  We were heading toward the street market, weaving through flower sellers, women in wool skirts, and men in thick coats and tall hats. All I wanted was to run away—to leave everything behind. Everyone except my family. I would take them with me somewhere safer, somewhere better.

  That was the dream, and I would do anything to make it happen.

  I thought about it so often that sometimes there seemed to be no room for anything else inside my head. A world without uncertainty. A world where I could be whatever I desired. A world without fear. That’s what I wanted.

  My hand drifted to my silver pendant, my fingers tracing its familiar shape. Before I could lose myself in another daydream, my father nudged my coat sleeve.

  “Who’s hungry?” he asked brightly, snapping me back to reality. We were only a block away from the market now.

  I smiled. “I could eat breakfast and lunch all at once. I’m starving.”

  “Clover please, don’t exaggerate,” my mother, Lyra, scolded. “And please don’t talk so loudly. People might think it’s true. You know we have plenty.”

  I bit back a retort. No one was paying us any attention. They were all too busy socializing and soaking in the sunlight. It wasn’t worth getting mad over.

  The city center’s streets were wide enough for carriages to pass comfortably, their dark grey cobblestones smooth as river stones. The sidewalks were spacious too, except where the roots of old trees had begun to lift and crack them apart. Those trees lined every street, their flowers and fruits filling the air with a sweet, citrus scent. Sometimes, I plucked a fruit or two as I walked.

  I also liked watching the carriages, admiring their sleek designs and the way their decorations glinted in the sun. I imagined what it would feel like to travel in one, surrounded by elegance.

  “We’re so close, I can almost smell it,” my father said, pulling me closer. He was one of the few people whose proximity I didn’t mind. He always made me feel safe.

  “Good,” I whispered to him. “Because I’m truly starving.”

  My mother had an awful habit of making us fast for twenty-four hours before Sunday mass at the White Cathedral. Not even water was allowed. She believed that going hungry would make us more grateful for what we had and that our prayers would be more sincere. That in some way, it would make us better.

  I had yet to understand how.

  Now that mass was over, all I wanted was food. But I kept quiet, knowing she’d scold me again if I complained.

  Instead, I focused on my surroundings. I loved walking the streets near the cathedral, taking in every detail. The buildings in the downtown district were painted white, their thick coats of shimmering paint matching the cathedral itself. The only other colors came from the trees, their fruits, and the countless flower pots decorating windows, balconies, and storefronts.

  White was almost worshiped in Aurora—in all of Ancora, really. It symbolized purity and divinity. Many people painted their homes and doors with it, even the sidewalks if they could afford it. White paint was considered special, and therefore, expensive.

  “Objective in sight,” my father announced with a grin, his wrinkles deepening. The market was just across the street now.

  Once the carriages cleared the avenue, we crossed toward the weekly market on Bluebell Street. A hundred merchants had set up their booths along the sidewalks, leaving barely any space to walk. We had to move through the carriageway instead, pressed shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the crowd. Personal space was impossible to come by.

  Immediately, sellers began calling out to us, waving their wares. Some offered lace umbrellas, others skin creams that could supposedly erase scars overnight. Fabrics, toys, sculptures—bright colors filled the market, vibrant and chaotic. If white symbolized divinity, then every other color represented joy.

  My parents and I ignored most of the vendors, heading straight for the food section fifty meters ahead. We couldn’t afford luxuries. Even if we wanted to, every coin we had was already spoken for.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  Still, a few small glass jars caught my eye. They were wrapped in white lace, their lids hand-painted with pink roses. Skin-whitening creams. Beautiful, but not worth their price—more than my entire outfit combined.

  We weren’t poor, not exactly, but every bit of money went toward survival. Leaving Aurora was a dream, but it was impossible. A single train ticket to the nearest city cost more than a week’s worth of food.

  We were trapped.

  But not for long.

  I had a plan. A foolish, desperate plan. But I prayed to God and the stars that it would be our way out. Because if we stayed here much longer, something terrible would happen. Aurora promised as much. I’d seen enough bloodstained sheets covering lifeless bodies to know how easily a life could be taken.

  I’d imagined my parents like that—lying still in the streets, never coming home. The thought haunted me every time they were late.

  I wouldn’t wait for it to come true.

  We would escape. We had to. I would do whatever it took to make it happen.

  And as the scent of roasted meat filled the air, awakening my senses, I started paying more attention to my surroundings.

  The food section was draped in vibrant fabrics, hung high between the surrounding brick buildings in an attempt to shield diners from the sun. Still, sunlight filtered through, casting shifting patterns of soft, colorful light over everyone below. It felt like sitting beneath a vast, stained-glass ceiling—a cloudy kaleidoscope that narrowed the streets, deepened the shadows, yet created a soothing ambiance that I really enjoyed.

  More than forty booths and tables, covered in vivid tablecloths, lined both sidewalks. Unlike the other market stalls, each food booth had its own braziers and towering clay or metal pots to keep meals warm, filling the air with a mouthwatering blend of sizzling meat, roasted corn, butter, and rich spices. Most stalls had only one table, which meant we often had to share. It wasn’t something that bothered me too much, but I preferred when it was just us.

  My stomach growled, an annoying reminder of my hunger. I tried to distract myself, letting my thoughts drift back to my plan—my escape from Aurora. It was the only thing that made my days bearable.

  Part of me knew it was foolish, the idea of learning to steal. But if I mastered it, if I could navigate the shadows like the city's most skilled thieves, maybe I could finally take my parents somewhere far from Aurora. Sometimes, in the quiet of my thoughts, I wondered what it would be like to steal a star—a real one. The idea was absurd, beyond heresy. A single star was worth more than I could fathom, probably more than a hundred thousand silvers. Enough to change our lives forever. But even if I dared, it wasn’t worth the risk.

  After lingering in my thoughts a little longer, we finally reached Orlan’s booth—the place where we always ate. But, as expected, the table was already full.

  “I told you we’d be late,” my mother said, shooting my father a pointed look. She was the only one who truly hated eating while standing, though she did it anyway when necessary. Finding an empty seat at Orlan’s—or anywhere in the market—was rare. Here, it was common to juggle a plate in one hand, a fork in the other, and a mug of coffee precariously balanced in whatever free space you could find.

  “Fine, we’ll wait until some chairs open up,” my father said with a grin that meant, Don’t be mad, darling. I gave him a look of my own.

  “I’m really hungry. Can’t we just eat standing this one time?” I asked, trying to keep the frustration from my voice. My stomach tightened painfully, and I pressed a hand against it.

  “I’m sure you can wait a few more minutes. The food isn’t going anywhere,” my mother replied.

  No, it wasn’t going anywhere—it was worse. It was right in front of me, tempting me with its rich, tantalizing aroma, while I couldn’t eat. Not yet.

  I huffed and turned away. There was no arguing with my mother. My father would take her side, as he always did.

  “In the meantime, you can think about what you want to order,” my father offered, his voice laced with an unspoken apology.

  “It’s alright,” I muttered.

  I already knew what I wanted. Red bread.

  Boiled corn dough stuffed with spiced red meat, shaped into small squares or triangles, and served with a thick layer of fiery tomato sauce. Just thinking about it made my mouth water. My stomach let out another loud growl, earning me a sharp look from my mother.

  “I can’t control it,” I said in a low voice, then added playfully, “If I could eat right now, it would fix the problem.”

  “It’s not funny, Clover,” she scolded, before turning to talk to my father, who was already chatting with Orlan and the others at the table.

  Whether I liked it or not, I was more my mother’s daughter than my father’s.

  I had my father’s dark brown eyes—his longing for freedom. But my mother’s light brown skin, her straight black hair, her stubbornness, and her need to prove herself? Those were all mine. More than I cared to admit.

  The scents of sizzling food and fresh spices swirled around me, making my head light with hunger. With nothing else to do, I let my gaze wander over the passing crowd. People dressed in long dresses and worn dark trousers moved past, their voices threading through the air like a melody. I wondered if they carried the same fears I did. If they feared Aurora the way I did. Or if some of them were the monsters lurking in its shadows.

  Their conversations spilled into the open air—plans for the day, gossip about family, musings on what they’d buy from the market. They seemed busy, carefree. But no one ever truly knew what hid behind another person’s smile.

  I sighed, rubbing my temples. I always overthought everything. It didn’t matter how many times I told myself to stop—it was a habit too deeply ingrained.

  A few minutes passed. I was about to make another plea to eat standing when a familiar figure moved through the crowd.

  Emilia.

  As she walked past, all eyes followed her. The market shifted around her, conversations stuttering, people pausing mid-bite.

  I tried to wave, but the crowd was too dense. A quick glance at Orlan’s table told me we weren’t getting seats anytime soon.

  “I saw Emilia. I just want to say hi,” I told my mother. Then, before she could object, I slipped away.

  “Tell her I say hi too,” my father called after me. I heard him murmuring something to my mother as I wove through the river of people.

  Emilia and I had only been friends for a few months, but I felt protective of her. Wherever she went, people found ways to make her life harder. Even I had disliked her at first, but once I got to know her, I realized she was kind.

  The funny thing was, I hadn’t even wanted to befriend her. At first, I had only spoken to her because I needed to get close to someone in her family. That was all. And yet, she had become one of the truest friends I’d ever had.

  The crowd thickened, slowing my steps, but I caught sight of her turning into a narrow side street. My stomach twisted. Where was she going?

  When I finally reached the alley’s entrance, I spotted her walking beside a tall, old man with messy gray hair. Had he been waiting for her?

  He wore a blue coat with a thin white circle on the back. A doctor.

  That should have reassured me, but something about the scene felt wrong.

  The alley was empty. Too empty. A ripple of unease crawled up my spine. I glanced back at the bustling market, where safety lay just a few steps away. If anything happened, all I had to do was scream. Someone would hear.

  It’s all in your head. Everything is fine.

  And yet, I hesitated. Why was Emilia following an old man into a dark street?

  At the other end of the alley, the man gestured animatedly as he spoke, his arms rising and falling. Then, in one swift motion, he pulled something from his pocket—a black cloth. Before Emilia could react, he pressed it against her nose and mouth.

  She struggled, kicking, clawing, trying to break free. But he was too strong.

  I didn’t think. I ran.

  I had no plan, no weapon, no advantage. Before I could even scream for help, something sharp pierced the back of my neck.

  My legs gave out. My body crumpled to the ground.

  I watched, powerless, as two men dragged Emilia toward a closed carriage. My mind screamed, my body refused to obey. My heart barely beat.

  I prayed for the strength to move, to shout, to do something.

  But my voice was gone.

  And then, the world faded to black.