Of course, Neymar immediately told Abel about Milo’s plans.

  Abel took the idea of being hunted too well for Neymar’s tastes.

  “Me? A Catcher? Funny.” He scoffed.

  Neymar failed to find this all hilarious.

  “If Milo or the Catchers find you a threat to whatever is going on between them, it’s going to be a fucking mess.” Neymar huffed. “It just might be better to stay away from Quinn Volta until this all blows over.”

  Abel lips twitched. Neymar braced himself, expecting a flash of anger just like their last conversation. Instead, Abel let out a frustrated sigh.

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “I…am…?” Neymar stuttered, surprised.

  But nothing more needed to be said. The following day, Abel complied perfectly.

  With that out of the way, there was the issue of finding the fall guy.

  Milo’s suspicions towards Abel remained so long as no other Catcher appeared with a similar arm injury.

  But how does someone even get in contact with a Catcher?

  He certainly didn’t want to immediately get put on Milo’s trial list for trying, so he couldn’t exactly walk up to any Empire Peacekeeper to “report a crime”.

  There must be a secret way— some back alley that keeps the heat off of a snitch for at least a few days.

  And who would be willing to share that information without Milo knowing?

  “Rockie.” Neymar plopped into the seat in front of Rockwell’s desk.

  When did he decide to give her a nickname?

  Focus.

  She looked particularly surprised.

  Of course she would. He had never initiated a conversation with her before. For the first weeks in the District, he simply sat by Abel and listened to them chatter on and on. She was incredibly thorough about the most mundane things, even providing drawn maps on scrap paper for the location of cafes within the District, to which routes would avoid the most Catchers.

  Maybe Neymar’s plan was a little too suspicious.

  No, this is fine. He’ll start off casual.

  Like a “What’s up?” Or a “How are you?”

  “What are you?”

  Idiot.

  He scrambled to recover. “…. Doing— What are you doing?”

  “Oh- uh—“ She blinked. “Club stuff.” She closed her notebook before he could look at it.

  Why was everyone in the District so damn suspicious?

  “Aren’t you usually with Milo nowadays?” She didn’t look at him, focused on using the side of her pen to flatten the cover of her notebook.

  She was already trying to dismiss him? Harsh.

  “I’m sorry for missing your study group…thing.”

  “You had other plans.” she said it as a matter-of-fact.

  “Well, speaking of, I’ve… seen what Milo works on outside of here.”

  Rockwell’s gaze lifted to him with interest, her icy demeanor instantly vanishing. “You have?”

  “Yeah, and I need your help. It’s kind of serious.” He attempted to hold her gaze, but his eyes kept flicking down to the desk.

  Why was he getting flustered?

  “Go on.” Rockwell propped her head up with her arm, leaning in, attentive.

  “I saw this kid get into an argument on the street the other day. I… I don’t know her well, but it sounded bad. She might try to retaliate by calling a Catcher.” Neymar whispered, internally praying his fake story was convincing enough.”I don’t want her to end up making a decision she’ll regret.”

  Rockwell’s gaze was wide and round, taking in every detail. It was kind of distracting.

  “I-If you know where she would meet up with one—“

  She placed a gentle hand on his.

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  “That’s very noble of you, Neymar.” She whispered back. “What does she look like? Where did you last see her exactly?”

  Neymar flushed. He did not prepare for follow up questions.

  “I didn’t exactly see her face. It was dark and through a window. She sounded young—“ he couldn’t bring himself to identify a location. Not if he didn’t know what would happen to the poor stranger that lived there. “Is it really that important?”

  “Of course. Why wait until she’s about to go to a Catcher when we can find someone she trusts to talk to her before she makes the decision? My siblings and I can find anyone anywhere in this city.” Rockwell’s eyebrows raised in amusement. “For instance, I know that if I had to look for you on the weekend, I would have to leave the District entirely.”

  Neymar froze.

  He did continue to make visits to the Fenharrow Inn when he could, if only to reassure Madam Fenharrow of their place in the District and check in on the old woman.

  Of course it was natural that people would begin to notice his coming and going. But why did that feel like a threat?

  “Is that wrong?” Neymar attempted to brush it off coolly.

  Rockwell’s smile slipped through the cracks of her facade.

  “I’m curious. Access out of the District for anyone living in it is hard to come by. Requires a lot of paperwork and glad-handing, and on top of that, overnight access is even more rare, so you must be someone very special– someone the Catchers wouldn’t have their eye on. You could exist peacefully in the background, yet you don’t.” She mused, patting his hand. “Which makes your questions and actions very… interesting. So, do you want to run that girl’s story by me again, or are you going to actually tell me why you’re seeking out an audience with a Catcher?”

  Neymar fell into silence.

  “…How could you tell?”

  “You’re a bad liar.” She said with mirth.

  He figured as much.

  “Would you answer my question if I can’t tell you why?”

  Rockwell considered it, then shook her head.

  “Access to them is a dangerous temptation. I’m not interested in giving anyone a way to end up on Milo’s shit list. Even if you don’t do it yourself, knowledge spreads.”

  “It’s for a good cause.” His hands twisted around to grip hers like a lifeline. “Please.”

  Rockwell’s eyelashes fluttered with emotion, but she remained steadfast.

  “That’s what they all believe.” She huffed. “You’re better off staying out of it.”

  “I’m not—“ Neymar let out a huff of frustration. “Never mind. I’ll deal with it.” He attempted to slip away, but Rockwell’s hand gripped his wrist.

  “I won’t give you the means to target others, but… If you believe you may be targeted, then…” She mumbled, quiet.

  Was she concerned for him?

  “… It’s very possible.” Especially if anyone found out who he really was.

  Rockwell pulled him back down to his seat.

  “Maybe I can tell you something about the Catchers after all...”

  ——

  Unlike Neymar, Abel Fenharrow was a damn good liar.

  The day he swore to stay away from Quinn Volta was Day Three of secretly meeting with her in the abandoned classroom he claimed as a guitar practice room during lunch hours.

  He didn’t mean to deceive Neymar.

  It simply took too much to explain what was at stake if he stopped now. And Neymar was probably too stubborn to listen.

  Because Quinn was a treasure trove of information. But like anything precious, she kept her finest locked behind many doors, to only be opened after fulfilling many conditions.

  One such condition was to coordinate their next joint attack against Milo’s prey.

  “Milo’s gang is a recent addition to the District.” Quinn noted one day after going through hand signals and tactical building infiltration and escape. “He began recruiting only after coming in contact with this Woman.”

  “Can’t you give me her name?” Abel pouted as he practiced strumming amidst their conversation. It helped drown out their voices to any curious ears.

  “So you can slip up and drop her name to your cousin? No. You know who she is. I know who she is. No names.”

  “At least a nickname.” Milo insisted. “Why don’t we call her… Toilet?”

  “Toilet.” She repeated.

  “It’s memorable. It doesn’t come up often in conversation, but nobody would guess what we’re talking about if they heard us.”

  Quinn burst out laughing.

  “Toilet it is.”

  And so, over maps of the District, Quinn explained how Toilet the Woman was operating through Milo, and that it was likely Milo’s gang that had attacked him and Neymar that night.

  Quinn claimed she was after Toilet for her vendetta against Catcher snitches. She was Milo’s information dealer and confidante, so the main way to remove her power over Milo was to convince him that she was not to be trusted.

  “Milo’s got the moral code of a nun,” Quinn explained. ”How is just as important as the why. He only goes so far because he believes what he’s doing is necessary and right. But when he finds out that Toilet has misled him…” She hesitated. “…I’m not sure what he’ll do, but I’m hoping he’ll turn against her.”

  That wasn’t exactly inspiring.

  “And you have a way to reason he’s wrong for trusting Toilet?”

  “Was it wrong to jump you in an alley?”

  “Of course.” Abel was doubtful, but he wasn’t about to give Quinn any reason to shut him out.

  The fact that his entire life story in the District was a lie, the fact that he was an outsider, the fact that he was an enemy to her very people—

  Yes, there were plenty of reasons.

  But how Toilet could know this on Day One begged more questions than answers. It meant that she was a force to be reckoned with.

  “But Milo doesn’t know me. He could come up with a justification that keeps him on Toilet’s side.” Abel reasoned.

  “You’re right. It’s not going to be enough. That’s why we’re going to follow him and look out for the next time that she messes up again.”

  How long would that take? How many people would be brutalized before they could snap Milo out of it?

  The doubts in Abel’s mind began to pile as he waited for that next opportunity.

  Was Toilet in the right for punishing those who took advantage of the Catchers? Should he really be supporting a police force of fear even if it means erasing a gang of fear?

  The District was terrorized either way.

  Was he merely helping the force that caused people like Toilet to appear in the first place?

  And what made Quinn so callous as to ally with the Catchers regardless of all the anguish they created?

  But Abel was far too wary of reciprocating questions to dig into her personal life, so they stuck to focusing on their “missions”.

  “If Milo gets to his target first, we stay out of it.” Quinn emphasized.

  “Wouldn’t their story still be plausible regardless?”

  “It’s not worth risking getting stuck in his crowd when it turns on you. The only reason you were able to get out last time was the fact that they wanted Arwen’s blood more than yours.”

  ”Fair point.”

  The first mission several weeks later was a failure.

  Quinn and Abel had just reached the apartment courtyard when Milo dragged out his victim and began to exact his justice. The mob descended upon a body Abel didn’t even have the time to identify. Clothes were torn and bloodied. A blood-curdling screech was drowned out by the din of yells.

  Abel shouldn’t have stuck around to witness it.

  He couldn’t control the flare of rage he felt upon seeing the surge of a swarm of bloodthirsty people. It was too familiar. He could place himself in the victim’s shoes. He could imagine the retribution of wind and blades and blood he once wrought to bold crowds like that one.

  And for a moment he craved it. Dared himself to drop right in the middle and make them taste retribution.

  His body lurched forward on impulse, only to be suddenly pulled back by long arms that wrenched around his torso and pinned his arms to his side. The motion threw him off balance and the two bodies tumbled to the ground.

  “We talked about this!” Quinn grunted as she wrestled him. Abel twisted and strained, fighting back. Quinn took an elbow to the face, but held firm, locking him in place.

  It was then that he realized Quinn was very very heavy.

  Was she always this heavy?

  Her arms around his chest felt like iron blocks. Her chest pressed over him was a boulder.

  It was painful, off-putting.

  And that distraction began to slow his racing, relentless thoughts.

  Abel eventually eased within her grip. She pulled him to a stand and released him, shoving him away from the scene.

  “I— Sorry—“ Abel attempted to recover. She raised a dismissive hand.

  ”There’s nothing we can do now. Go home.”

  Quinn Volta was gone before he could get another word out.

  But all he could think of at that moment…

  …was the faint hum of magic in the air that she left behind.