I guess it’s a good thing. At least I have an excuse to hide my face.

A short wall runs around the edge of the prison complex, and as we draw near to it, I see more soldiers there than I’ve ever seen outside of a warfront. They stand nearly shoulder to shoulder along the wall, their eyes turned out to the city streets. The only breaks come in the shape of a dozen open gates spaced out in regular intervals along the wall, through which lines of prisoners now shuffle back into the complex under heavy guard. They must be returning from work shifts outside the city, cleaning the streets or working in greenhouses outside the prison complex.

Jeran keeps a dark gray cloth looped around his own head, the fabric hiding his face from view, while I do the same. In this evening light, we blend into the shadows at the corner of a street as we watch the lines of prisoners move.

Above us, moving along the balcony ledges of the surrounding buildings, are Aramin and Adena.

I can’t help shaking my head in admiration. Even after being captured and subjected to the terror of the arena, they can still glide silently through the shadows of the city, their movements so subtle that sometimes even we lose track of where they are above us. Only now and then do I see a faint glint of light flash at us from the ledges. Adena, already back to crafting her makeshift gadgets, has polished Aramin’s newly acquired dagger enough to make it shine like a mirror. She uses it to communicate with us in the darkness, alerting us to where they are without giving away their position to anyone else.

Jeran tilts his face in their direction at Adena’s latest signal, then signs to them briefly. He glances at me. “They can see the top of the prison wall from where they are,” he whispers to me. “Adena says there are too many guards stationed at too regular of intervals.”

As we draw near, I catch myself unconsciously touching the collar of my shirt, underneath which my chest brand lies. Every prisoner has a brand. It tells the guards where they belong inside the complex, and it gains entrance into the complex. From there, they match the prisoner with a complex’s manager, who keeps track of who belongs in which prison block. My brand had assigned me to the turbine factories, where I worked ten-hour shifts pushing the pedals that powered the electric generators.

“Not if we find a way to bring those guards over to us,” I whisper back. “Give them some room to get in.”

Jeran thinks about this for a moment. “Do they keep a written tally of who works inside and outside the complex?” he asks.

I nod. “The workers allowed outside of the complex are tracked in great detail.”

He shakes his head, studying the sheer size of this district. It loops all the way around the city. “Even if some of us make it inside, how would we find Talin’s mother? That is, if she’s here at all? What if they moved her tonight to some other place?”