The rain had a way of swallowing sound in Hollow Deep.
It didn't fall in drops so much as it slid down the air in slow, heavy curtains, turning the alley into a narrow tunnel of gray.
Zayway crouched against the wall, knees drawn to his chest, the hood of his patchwork coat dripping steadily. He was eight, small for his age, but with the wiry build of someone who'd learned early that running was better than fighting — most of the time.
A rat darted across the slick cobblestones, its claws ticking like tiny drumbeats. Zayway's eyes followed it without moving his head. In this part of the city, you didn't shift too suddenly. Sudden movements caught attention.
And in Hollow Deep, attention could kill you.
⸻
The alley breathed — at least that's how it felt. The fog rolled in from both ends, curling and uncurling like lungs pulling air. He could almost hear it, a deep inhale through stone, a slow exhale through shadow.
Old Mare had told him once that the city was alive. Not metaphor-alive. Alive-alive. It had moods. It remembered faces. Sometimes it gave you what you needed; other times it took everything.
Zayway wasn't sure he believed her. But he knew this: Hollow Deep watched.
⸻
A boot splashed somewhere near the alley mouth. Zayway tensed. The footsteps were heavy, unhurried — the kind that belonged to someone who knew they had the right to be anywhere.
He leaned forward just enough to see.
Two Hollow Guard in mismatched armor stood at the far end, talking in low voices. Their breastplates bore the faint outline of the city's sigil — a sun half-eclipsed by a jagged line — but the metal was dull, mottled with rust.
"Orders say they saw him slip this way," one muttered.
The other shrugged. "Orders say a lot of things."
⸻
Zayway's pulse quickened. He didn't know who they were looking for, but Guard looking meant someone would bleed. It wasn't going to be him.
He slipped sideways into the deeper shadow between two leaning brick walls, his thin frame vanishing into the crease. The stone was damp and cold against his back, the smell of moss strong enough to taste.
From here, he could watch without being seen.
One Guard's voice drifted through the fog. "You ever wonder what's under this street? How far it goes down?"
The other snorted. "Down there's nothing but bones and rats."
But Zayway caught something else — the way the man's eyes flicked to the cobblestones, then quickly away, like he knew something he wasn't supposed to say.
⸻
A shout rang out from somewhere beyond the alley. Both Guards turned, hands on their weapons, and jogged off toward the noise.
Zayway waited until their footsteps faded before slipping out from the crease. He glanced once at the cobblestones where the Guard had looked. The cracks between them were wider than he remembered. Silver mist curled from them in thin tendrils, too faint to notice unless you were staring.
And Zayway was staring.
⸻
He knelt and touched the nearest stone. It was colder than ice, yet somehow dry. The silver mist swirled briefly around his fingers before fading into the air.
For reasons he couldn't explain, his stomach dropped.
He pulled his hand back, eyes darting up and down the alley.
Somewhere beneath Hollow Deep, something had just exhaled.