Nomi glanced at Malachi, who said, “I will take care of Asa,” with a hint of the chill she remembered from the Superior. “You two should go back to Porto Rosa with me. Take the small boat or buy passage on a merchant ship and go to Azura. Go to Serina. It’s the only safe place for you right now.”

That wasn’t what Nomi wanted to do. A shiver of something ran through her, but it wasn’t fear. It was resolve.

Instead of answering Malachi, she turned to Renzo. “Are you living here?” she asked, glancing around the muddy riverbank. There were no signs of habitation, no belongings.

“I have a small room above the shop across the street. It’s got a back entrance and a window where I watch the bridge. And the soldiers.” Renzo straightened his jacket, plucking at the cuffs.

He was nervous.

“There’ve been soldiers? Are they still looking for you?” Nomi stared at her brother’s rounded cheeks, his clear amber eyes, his tall, sturdy frame. He is safe. He is alive. You found him.

“After they—” He swallowed. “After they went to our home, they kept an eye on the place for a couple of days. I snuck in by way of the roof soon after I returned, but I was too late. They don’t watch it anymore. I don’t know if they’ve given up, or if they’re paying the neighbors to rat me out if they see me.”

Nomi’s stomach dropped. Who had seen her there this morning?

“Come on,” Renzo said. “It’s damp down here. We’ll be safer—warmer—across the street.”

Nomi and Malachi followed Renzo up the crumbling stairs, across the street, and along the narrow alleyway that led to a small door half-hidden by overflowing barrels of trash. Nomi breathed through her mouth until they’d ascended the building’s narrow stairs and slipped into Renzo’s apartment.

But calling it an apartment was a bit of a stretch. It was nothing more than one small room with a pile of blankets on the floor under the window, a heap of clothes in one corner, and a tiny washroom separated from the main space by a stained curtain. One exposed light hung from the ceiling.

“Signor Stefano owns it,” Renzo said.

Nomi’s eyes widened. She knew that name. “Papa’s friend owns this building?”

“He knows about what happened to them,” Renzo replied, nodding. He rubbed his arms, as if warding off a chill. “He plans to wait a few more days and then pay a call. He’ll ‘discover’ them and have the authorities, um, put them to rest. Father had just visited him.… He has to make it seem natural, waiting between visits, so no one will think he was tipped off.”

Malachi moved to the window and stared down at the bridge.