“What did you steal?” Bri asked, her hand drifting toward her amber dagger.

“Something that shouldn’t have belonged to them in the first place,” the voice hissed. Whoever this thief was, they had a deep, resonant tone—warm, yet raspy. It made Bri squint as if trying to see through the shadowed hood.

Bri toed the fallen male with her boot. “I’m glad they deserved it.”

“Indeed.”

Indeed. Not the tone she’d expect from a thief.

Five more lumbering fae turned the corner. They were muscular and stout, with menacing faces that fit perfectly in these parts. They were either the lackeys of potions dealers or brothel guards. Armed to the teeth, all five looked like they knew how to fight.

“Fighting or running?” Bri asked, watching as the fae horde charged them.

The cloaked figure was already turning. “Running,” the thief said, bolting down the alleyway.

Bri dashed after the swishing cloak. “Good idea.”

“I don’t need your help,” the thief growled. “Just stay out of my way.”

Bri ignored their warning, darting through the narrow bottleneck of rounded houses and following them into the markets. They dove into the maze of darkened stalls. Shop owners had closed up for the night. Empty tables stretched out as far as the eye could see, covered in abandoned bare baskets and empty crates. Heavy blankets strung from ropes partitioned the stalls.

Bri kicked over a table behind her, then another, forcing the fae chasing them to leap over or go around. She followed the shadowed figure under two heavy walls of blankets. The thief panted heavy breaths, their speed dwindling, making it easier to keep up. They wouldn’t outrun the fae chasing them.

“Turn right,” the thief called, ducking under another curtain.

Bri’s arms wheeled as she popped up from behind the curtain, nearly colliding with a thick wood pole that held up the thatched roof. That would slow the fae down. The thief and Bri careened through the stalls, setting a distance between them and their assailants. Bri spotted another square of blankets—a makeshift changing room, perhaps—and made a quick decision.

She snatched the back of the winded thief’s cloak and yanked them into the changing room.

“Wh—”

“Shh,” Bri whispered.

Their chests rose and fell against each other in the inky blackness. Even with her fae sight and the bright moon beyond the curtains, she couldn’t see the cloaked figure a hair’s breadth away.

Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears as she listened for the heavy footfall of the fae chasing them. Their footsteps faltered.

“Where did she go?” one snarled.

“She stole the night’s earnings, that fucking bitch,” another growled.

The sound of their boots grew closer. The pursuers kicked over a table, which skidded across the earthen floor. One brushed against the wall of the pair’s hiding spot and the thief sucked in a shallow breath, tensing. Bri gripped the hilt of her dagger, her muscles coiled like an asp ready to strike. This thief seemed like a good enough fighter. They could probably take on five of the fae if they had to.