With every panicked scream from the man, Sedgewick drew a second closer to chunking his knife at his back. The only thing stopping him was the fact that he hadn't tossed a knife in years and he didn't want to give the fleeing man something he could toss back. As another shout for help echoed down the hall, Sedgewick finally reared back his arm to throw it.

Only to jerk to a stop when Feyla dashed ahead and pounced on the man.

"Go to sleep!" she whispered harshly, jabbing his neck a bit harder than she probably needed to. The man toppled to the ground, knocked cold before he even hit it.

Visions of a knife embedded in Feyla hung like a half-finished illusion before him. Terror shook together with relief, turning his insides into a bubbling mess. Sedgewick reached her side seconds later. "Are you completely out of your mind? I was about to throw this at him; you could have gotten yourself killed!"

"Why are you throwing knives around?" Feyla whispered harshly. "I gave you that so you could defend yourself, not chunk it at people!"

"I was defending us! His shouting would have gotten us killed," Sedgewick said.

Footsteps pounded down the stairwell nearby.

"Assuming it hasn't already," he muttered darkly, dragging her back the way they came.

Two of Crayden's men reached the bottom of the stairs. They stumbled to a stop at the sight of their unconscious companion and Sedgewick and Feyla dashing down the hall. One of them called up the stairs for more help before chasing off after them.

"He was running away and you were about to stab him in the back!" Feyla scolded.

"Could we postpone the morality discussion until after we're done running for our lives?" he shouted back.

A knife whizzed over their heads, clanging to the ground in front of them. Sedgewick snatched it up and threw it back. One man swore as it nicked his arm but that didn't stop them.

"Look who's not scolding me now," Sedgewick snapped.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought we weren't having this discussion," Feyla shot back.

They swept past Sedgewick's former room. Feyla skirted around Hobrin's still-unconscious form but Sedgewick skidded to a stop. Another knife soared over his head.

"Why do you always stop during things like this?!"

Sedgewick yanked a paper out of Hobrin's pocket and took off again. "Map through the aqueducts. Crayden should have an entrance down there up ahead."

Their pursuers drew closer, shouting insults and cries for aid. Sedgewick smirked at the sight of a door in front of them.

Only for it to wither as it burst open and four more of Crayden's men poured out, wielding a mixture of spiked clubs and long knives.

"Gates," he cursed.

Feyla grabbed his sleeve and jerked him back toward the lesser of two evils. "New plan," she said, pushing him further in front of her. "When I say so, crouched down and hold still."

"Couldn't we exhaust our options a bit further before I lay down and get sliced to bits so you escape? Not that I'm unwilling to do so but— "

"Stop being snarky and just do it!"

Sedgewick dropped to the floor. He hissed in pain as Feyla launched herself off his back just as the first two men reached them. She tackled them to the ground, knocking one out on the way down. The one Sedgewick had nicked attempted to stagger to his feet but Sedgewick pushed off the floor and past his pain fast enough to bludgeon him in the head with the handle of his knife. He fell to the floor, either unconscious or badly dazed. Sedgewick tugged Feyla away, not waiting to find out which.

They made it to the stairs and charged up them, their second round of company not far behind. The two burst into a large storage room at the very back of House Sunspirits. Feyla snagged a nearby chair. A crate of rune discs crashed to the ground off it. Sedgewick grabbed it from her and kicked it down the stairs. Their pursuers cried out but he slammed the door and locked it before surveying the damage.

"To the streets?" he asked.

Feyla's shoulders slumped. "Yes, please. And then somewhere no one owes you any 'favors'."

Sedgewick snorted despite everything. "If memory serves, the back exit should be right— "

"There. See? Told you he'd come up here. Man never caught anyone in my aqueduct. No way he'd slip out through them."

Sedgewick and Feyla snapped around. Crayden stood in front of the back exit, a dozen more men at his side.

Sedgewick sneered. His eyes shifted to the door leading into the building's kitchen. Men were posted there too, albeit fewer. Pity Crayden wasn't an idiot. "Your hospitality leaves a lot to be desired, friend."

"I told you, Alverdyne. It's not personal. Just business."

Sedgewick's gaze flickered to the broken rune discs and the crates stacked high near the kitchen door. He glanced at Feyla and repeated the gesture, adding a fraction of a nod only she could see. Confusion covered her features before she stuffed it down as understanding struck her. Perhaps it was a good thing she knew him so well.

Crayden and men raced forward. Feyla snatched up an armful of broken discs and poured magic into them while they fled toward the kitchen. When they began bubbling in her arms, she chunked them at the base of a tower of crates. Heat rippled through the air as the disc shards exploded, sending the crates toppling onto the men guarding the kitchen door. Feyla and Sedgewick scrambled over them and broke into the kitchen.

Innocent staff screamed in horror but Sedgewick paid them no mind. He snatched up a bottle of wine and broke it against the head of the one man who managed to avoid the crates. "Waste of a good year," he growled.

"I don't think so," Feyla said as she dragged him away.

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH THESE THINGS COST?" Crayden shouted as he and the second group of men finally reached the rune disc crates.

"They'd be less if your customers weren't buying from your black market!" Sedgewick shouted back in righteous indignation.

Sedgewick blinked in the late morning light as the two of them burst into the room they'd enjoyed a drink together in only two nights ago. A chair scratched back ominously. The man in it placed a bright red mage's hat on his head. Sedgewick clung to the hope that he was mistaken only for it to die a miserable death at the sight of the light glinting off the silver-and-blue Ivory Tower clasp on him.

"Master Gaiven— "

A flaming table soared through the air before he finished. Sedgewick and Feyla dropped to the tiled floor and it crashed into the wall behind them, setting fire to an expensive-looking tapestry.

"You gates-cursed, hypocritical son of a herdsman."

Sedgewick tucked Feyla behind him and started inching to the stairs. "Now Gaiven, I don't know what you've heard but this isn't what it looks like."

"Funny," he said, levitating a staff to his hands. "Sounds just like what I used to say to you."

Another fiery table of death launched at them. Heat seared the back of his neck as Sedgewick snatched Feyla's hand and raced toward the stairs.

"I listened to you—" He blasted at them. "I respected you! And you have the nerve to jump into the same thing I let you drag me out of?" Another blast. "The Archmage wants you alive and all that. But I think I'm taking that as a suggestion, you hypocritical— "

"What the gates are you doing to my building?" Crayden shouted as he and his men finally reached the room.

Sedgewick and Feyla pounded up the stairs. Two more tables flew at them, one raining down sparks above their heads as the other crashing into the steps just behind them. Fire began spreading across the walls as Crayden temporarily forgot his captives in the face of his now-burning building. They reached the top of the stairs and broke into Crayden's office, slamming the door shut behind them.

"My kit!" Feyla squealed in joy. She dashed to his desk and snatched the belt of supplies and equipment off it before latching it on her like a lifeline.

Screams and death threats rose from downstairs, the light of fire not far behind them. But none of that reached Sedgewick as a cold awareness sunk into him.

Feyla's things were here.

And if Feyla's things were here...

"Sedgewick, we need to go!" Feyla shook him out of his daze,

"Not yet," he whispered. Sedgewick jumped at the desk like a starving dog would a bone. He jerked drawers out, shaking everything onto the ground before pouncing at the cabinets in the room as well, throwing papers everywhere in his frantic hunt.

"Why are you always stopping?" Feyla screamed as she tried to pry open a window while one of their many enemies began banging down their door.

"My spell notes have to be here somewhere. I can revise them, steal some materials and still get my magic— "

Feyla jerked him to her face roughly. "Sedgewick. I don't care. If we stay here, we are. Going. To. Die."

Sedgewick stared into her eyes before half-turning to an unopened drawer. He let go of it slowly. As if he'd been holding onto it far longer than he had. "You're right," he said roughly. "I don't need it," Sedgewick finished, his voice firm but swirled with a hint of wonder.

Another thud hit the door as smoke poured into the room through its cracks.

They finally opened the window and Sedgewick laced his hand that had been gripping the drawer through Feyla's. The door blasted off its hinges. They jumped.