You don’t get what you don’t go after, he’d said.

Somewhere nearby, temple bells bonged out midnight.

He’d hoped his ankle would loosen up, but instead it seemed to stiffen as he hobbled along. That would make it difficult to outrun the provost guards if they spotted him. So he kept to the side streets and shadows as best he could.

He crossed the bridge, avoiding the guards searching out stragglers. As he wound his way toward Hampton, the back of his neck prickled, as though someone were watching him. Once, he spun around, hearing a footstep behind him. But he saw nothing and no one.

Surely Byrne wouldn’t send anyone after him to exact revenge, Han thought. Nah. Byrne was an honorable sort, full of scruples. Besides, maybe he and Rebecca were busy kissing and making up. Jealousy twanged through him.

When Han reached Mystwerk Hall, he chose not to cross the open quad, where he might be spotted, but kept close to the building, using it as cover as he threaded his way closer to Hampton. Maybe he’d go up over the roof again. He’d been through enough drama. He didn’t want to deal with any more.

Han turned down the cobbled pathway that led to the back gardens. There was a hidden corner between the buildings that offered good handholds for climbing.

Han wedged one boot into a crevice and reached high, gripping the rough stones on either side. He hoped his ankle wouldn’t give him trouble on the high road.

At that moment, someone behind him said, “Keep your hands where they are. I got a blade, and I’ll use it.”

The voice was low and rough. Whoever it was, he was smart enough not to touch Han, and so give away his position.

“What do you want?” Han asked, thinking that if idiocy were a capital crime, he might soon pay the price.

“You got a purse on you?”

Han did have a purse on him, but he didn’t want to give it up.

“Nuh-uh,” Han said. “It’s nearly end of term. I’m flat broke.”

“Liar.” A whisper of air, his ear stung, and then blood trickled down his neck. The thief had sliced his earlobe, with a blade so sharp he’d scarcely felt it.

“Your purse,” the thief repeated. “Or next I cut off your hand.” His voice shook a little, like he was nervous. He sounded young, too. That wasn’t reassuring. A nervous larcener with a sharp blade was dangersome. And Han wouldn’t be quick on his feet, with his ankle unreliable as it was.

“All right. I got a purse,” Han admitted. “You want me to fetch it out?” He didn’t plan on making any sudden moves.

“Tell me where it is,” the thief said.