The torchlight flickered against the damp stone walls, casting restless shadows over the worn faces of the gathered refugees. The air was thick with mildew and the scent of too many bodies packed in too tight a space. Leil moved among them, her steps soft, checking wounds and handing out what little food was left. Fee trailed behind her, scanning the space with sharp eyes and a furrowed brow.
The ladder groaned under my boots as I climbed down into the sewer hideout, the dampness clinging to my skin like regret. Leil followed, bow slung across her back. Fee dropped last, landing in that casually obnoxious, perfect elven way, not even rustling her cloak.
The lanterns flickered low, casting an orange glow on hollowed-out cheeks and wary eyes. A boy tugged at my sleeve as I passed.
"Did you find food?"
"You're looking better, Joss," Leil said gently, recognizing the kid—scrawny, maybe twelve—who'd been coughing up sludge two days ago.
"Not yet. But we will." I ruffled his tangled hair, pretending not to feel the ribs beneath his shirt.
"We'd smell it before you brought it," grumbled a middle-aged man seated near a cracked pipe. He pinched his nostrils closed with exaggerated flair.
Fee wrinkled her nose and waved a hand in front of her face. "It does stink more than yesterday," she murmured.
She wasn't wrong. The air had taken on a sweet-sour rot—like moldy fruit and something worse. Probably weeks of no fresh air, no showers, and too many people sweating fear into stone walls.
"Can't we come out in groups for air?" a woman called from the back, her voice tired but rising with hope. A few others murmured agreement.
Panic fluttered in my throat. I wasn't Lancelot. Or Bolton. I didn't have the presence or the confidence to command a room. I glanced at Leil, silently pleading. She looked away.
Traitor.
Fee? Nope. Lost in thought, probably dissecting a threat we hadn't noticed yet. And she'd only just joined us. It wouldn't be fair to throw her into this.
Ugh. Fine. I stepped forward.
"I know you're all tired... and smelly," I said, trying to inject humor. It didn't land. "But it's only a couple more days. Lancelot and the Mages are working on a plan. A real one. We're going to wipe the slime out."
Silence. Then, from the guy near the pipe—the same one who'd complained before—came a grunt.
"Sure. And after that, the goddesses'll come bless our bathwater. I'd rather die fighting than rot down here."
Okay. Not ideal.
And then, a voice—thin, but clear.
"Ease up, Calen," said the old man who'd backed Lancelot yesterday. He placed a frail hand on the grumbler's shoulder. "She's just trying to keep hope alive. We're all doing what we can. Just a little longer, yeah?"
Calen frowned, looked around at the others, then gave a grudging nod. "Fine. For now."
The elder turned to us—me, Leil, Fee—with kind eyes, but a seriousness that cut through the air. "Just as a precaution," he said. "If something happens down here… is there a way to reach the Rescue Squad on the surface? Somewhere we could go, if the tunnels fall?"
Bolton told me not to reveal the Rescue Squad's location—just a fancy name we gave ourselves: Lancelot, Bolton, Mage, Leil, Fee, and me. We were the only ones left who could still throw a decent punch at the rogues.
Technically, I shouldn't tell anyone we were stationed at the Mage Tower. It was too risky. But the old man was just trying to keep spirits from crumbling. A simple reassurance might help.
Fee tilted her head, waiting silently to see what I'd say.
"Okay, Old Timer," I muttered, stepping closer. He had that musty, warm smell some elders carry—made ten times worse in the cramped sewer air. I tried not to wince.
"We're in the Mage Tower," I whispered into his ear, holding my breath. "That's where we're working on a solution."
He nodded. "Ah. Thank you, dear." His thin lips pulled into the ghost of a smile—there and gone in a blink.
Fee's voice cut through before I could spiral into regret.
"Can we get moving? Those crows aren't gonna shoot themselves. And I'm starving."
"Right, right." Leil adjusted her bow. "Traps are still working, yeah, Lessa? I didn't trigger any coming in, so it's on you."
"I checked this morning. Electricity line, pitfall trap, suspended blades—they're good," I said. "Let's go."
As we climbed out, the grumbly guy from earlier muttered, "Still feels like we're sitting ducks."
"Three more days," I said. "That's all we need."
Behind us, the old man watched with a faint smile stretching his cracked lips.