They rushed off.

“Follow me,” Nefertiti said, managing to snag a lounging patron’s abandoned robe. She wrapped herself in it and pulled up the loose hood.

Jake had to run to keep up with her. She moved like a lioness, swift and dangerous. Even without recognizing her, people moved out of her way. Jake followed in her wake.

Minutes later they burst through a side door and out into the open. A warm breeze swept over the stones. The plaza was empty as the sun set, having been cleared by the guards after the prison break. As Nefertiti fled from the pyramid, fear for his friends, for his sister, dragged Jake’s feet.

“Get over here!” Nefertiti ducked into the shadows of the nearest alley.

Jake obeyed, but not because she commanded it. He knew he could not rescue everyone on his own. He needed help, and he knew where to find it.

He joined Nefertiti. “Do you know of an inn named the Crooked Nail? It’s somewhere by the western gate of the city.”

She frowned. “Yes. Why? That’s a den of thieves and other low sorts.”

He waved her on. “Perfect. At the moment, we can’t get any lower.”

This earned a small smile from her. Which surprised him. Jake didn’t think she could smile. At that moment, Jake understood Pindor’s interest in the princess.

She headed off. “Perhaps you’re right. Besides, the company of thieves sounds far safer than being near any priest of Ka.”

By the time they’d crossed the city—skulking through the shadows, avoiding any stray eyes—full night had fallen. Overhead, stars sparkled in a spectacle that humbled. Jake stared up at the thick swath of the Milky Way cutting across the sky, what Marika’s people called the White Road.

The thought of Marika and the others pulled his attention back to Earth. With every passing minute, his fear grew. Were they being tortured? Were they even still alive? He had to believe they were alive.

“How much farther?” he asked as they stopped at a crossroad.

She pointed to the left. They’d reached the western wall.

A blare of horns sounded behind them, coming from the center of town. They’d been hearing similar clarions as they fled through the city. An alarm was being raised.

“This way,” Nefertiti said.

She hurried down a side alley barely wide enough to walk in single file. The way cut jaggedly back and forth and smelled of rotting vegetables and gamey meat. Nefertiti lifted the hem of her robe with distaste, stepping over a wet puddle that Jake hoped was old bathwater.

At last, Nefertiti stopped. Jake stared past her shoulder and spotted a sign hanging crookedly, dangling from one chain. There was no name, only the painted symbol of a square-headed nail bent into a lightning bolt.

“The Crooked Nail,” Jake said. “We made it.”

Open windows glowed with firelight. The smell of roasting chicken (or more likely some other meaty denizen of the desert) encouraged Jake forward. He hadn’t eaten all day.