It moved with the speed of a strike honed by practice. Fingers closed at the chain around the girl's throat, and the locket that sat there — a small oval case rimmed in silver — was torn free before anyone could shout.
"No!" the girl screamed, more startled than scared. The cry made people look up; the puppeteer's dragon froze mid-flap.
The thief's motion was like a blur. He darted into the pressing crowd, shoulders low, boots slapping. For an instant he was gone — then a flash of dark cloak and a sliver of metal weaving between bodies.
Solis acted quickly before others can react. Habit, instinct, a refusal to stand and be merely polite — he moved forward, pushing through the gaps.
Ada's hand closed on his sleeve. "Wait," she hissed. "There are too many people. He'll vanish."
"I saw him," Solis said. "He went that way."
Ada tugged him aside, scanning. "No, he won't. He went toward the spice stalls — too many cover routes." She pushed through the crowd, her voice low and sharp. "You, dumbhead! Watch the cart! You — can't let that thief through that alley!"
Some merchants, recognizing the urgency in her tone — shouting for help, sliding shuttered windows to block the escape. The crowd's mood snapped from playful to tense. People pushed and elbowed and tried to find reason.
The girl — still pressed to herself, cloak tight — stood breathless. She stared at the spot where her locket had been, then at Solis running after the thief and then Ada. "Thank you," she whispered, voice small. "I didn't expect such—"
"No thanks yet," Ada cut in. "Only after we get the locket, then maybe a thank you. Who are you, anyway? You run like a merchant's apprentice but walk like a noble."
"Just—" the girl hesitated. Then, with a quick look around, she murmured, "I'm new to this part of town."
Solis walked back pointing at something. Ada looked toward the alley Solis had pointed out. The thief had disappeared into a veiled cluster of stalls. A look exchanged. Then a decision.
"How about following it?" Solis said.
Ada's eyes narrowed. "You sure?."
Solis's fingers tightened on the cloth-wrapped hilt of his sword at his back. "I won't let him get away. Just need back up in case. Would I get assistance from you?"
Ada sighed. "Fine. But if you get yourself skewered, I'll bring you back on a stretcher and make you sing for belladonna's forges until your throat is raw."
They pushed through bodies, ducked beneath hanging lanterns, and turned into the narrow passageway lined with spice merchants. The smell of cumin and pepper hit them like a wall. Stalls leaned close enough that Solis could touch the awnings on both sides with outstretched arms.
The alley opened into a small courtyard where three cloaked figures clustered near a stack of woven baskets. A sound of quiet chuckling, a rustle of fabric, and the thief ducked behind a lean merchant, the locket glinting in his palm like a flashing eye.
Solis slowed, counting three. One at the left, one near the stall, one sitting on a crate with the locket pressed to his chest. Their faces were half-hidden, but the one with the locket had a crooked smile and a scar across his knuckle.
He moved.
Solis stepped from cover, axe-forward — not to kill but to threaten, to divide their focus. "Hand it over," he said, voice low.
They looked up, interest piqued more than fear.
"You picked the wrong woman," Ada added, stepping around him with a fluid motion, hand on the pommel of her sword. "Don't make your bad night worse."
The thief with the locket laughed. "And who are you to tell us who to steal from? Two kids with a noble's temper."
Solis's jaw tightened. "We're not mere kids, buddy."
A rustle at the edges — shouts from the market, the sound of someone about to call guards — shifted the moment. The thief's smile became thin. He pocketed the locket, glanced at his companions.
"Run," he hissed.
They bolted, scattering into different alleys. One took the roofline; another dove into a crowd of food buyers. The thief with the locket tried a low, quick run — but Ada's boot connected with his calf before he'd taken three steps. He tripped, the locket flinging into the air.
For a single perfect breath the world seemed to hold itself. The locket turned, spun; Solis reached out and caught it, pulse hammering.
Ada had already picked the thief up by the collar and looped an arm behind him in a rough, efficient hold. He was younger than she'd guessed, not fierce but desperate. Sweat and hunger and youthful arrogance flickered across his face.
Solis stood there, panting, the silver chain cool in his palm. He looked back at the girl. Her hood had fallen back enough to show a ribbon of gold hair and a momentary expression on her face that made his chest go tight — not because of her beauty but because of how small and human she looked.
She moved toward them, then stopped. Her eyes widened in recognition at the locket in his hand. "My locket," she said, as if he were holding someone else's answer.
She crossed the little space to Solis and, with hands that didn't yet know how to be bold, reached for the chain. When her fingers met his, an ember of something unnameable passed between them — a wordless spark of relief and astonishment.
"Thank you, mister. I really mean it." she said again, voice steadier.
Solis handed it over. Her palm closed around it like it was a promise.
Ada held the thief steady. "Are you going to tell me why you snatch a locket for a living? Or are you going to sit there and grow into a better liar?"
The thief spat. "We don't choose who we take from." His voice was coarse but not cruel. "We take from who walks alone."
A guard's shout echoed from the street: "Thief! Hold them!"
Faces turned. The tiny courtyard blurred with motion as citizens and servants pushed toward the sound. The thief's friends tried to melt into the crowd. Ada braced and passed the thief off to a watchman who arrived with two colleagues, more curious than brutal. The thief fought only for a breath, then slumped, knowing the game was done.
Solis watched the guards lead the boy away. He looked at the girl, at the locket gleaming in her hand. She met his gaze with a quiet intensity.
"I should go," she said, pulling her cloak around herself.
"Wait," Solis said. "What's your name?"
She hesitated. "Lilith."
The name landed simple and strange. Ada's brow lifted for the briefest of moments; it awfully sounded familiar.
Lilith gathered her hood and stepped back into the crowd. She bowed once, politely, and then slipped away like a whisper — leaving Solis and Ada in a square that had already tilted back toward its normal riot of life.
They watched her go until she was swallowed by the market. Ada exhaled sharply. "She moves like a noble," she said. "Not all of them walk that way. You could see it."
Solis turned his medallion own over in his hand before tucking it into his pocket as if it were a talisman.
Ada nudged him. "You just run through a hundred alleys for princess of our kingdom and you didn't even realize it yet, right?"
Solis blinked. "Umm... she said her name was Lilith."
Ada's eyes went narrow and then soft. "Huu." She paused, then shook her head. "You still don't get it. Would a princess in disguise reveal her real name? Come on... use your brain, man."
Solis tucked his medallion under his shirt, feeling both foolish and glad.
As they turned back toward the inn, the market resumed its rhythm. Puppets moved. A child's squeal cut high. A vendor called the price of pomegranates. The city stilled and began again, unaware of the small thread it had just spun — one that would tug them, sooner or later, into pull they could not yet see.
And below the city, where stone kept secrets and fog clung like a promise, a different set of eyes watched nothing at all and everything like it was a map.