It's as though she wanders through one of her dreams, bundled in layers, invisible to all around her, a silent observer of a life she left behind, a being that doesn't seem to touch the ground.

Alicia never thought she'd see the slums again, never thought she'd have the familiar stench up her nose and be glad for it. Then again, she never expected to survive after exiling herself.

Oliver is at her side. A tense silence is between them as they traverse through the muddy streets, the smell of rain mingling with the reek of filth and ash. It's familiar, like home, but also completely surreal.

She forgot what it was like to be in a place so vast, surrounded by strangers and buildings that stretch for miles, crumbling and leaning precariously though some of them may be.

They slip through alleys, avoiding mumbling drunks that try to grab at the thick coat around her stolen just moments prior. Desperation is clear on their faces. Alicia doesn't feel the same pity for them as she once did, not after her time as an exile. Desperation is a dangerous thing to harbour.

The night-time bustle of prostitutes and lewd figures in the dark is outlandish, like she's watching it all through the eyes of someone else. She lived here once, lived here and never thought any of this was abnormal. It's as though she's forgotten the concept of money and anyone being above another person, the social constructs of an exile are vastly different from that of the capital.

This all must be a bizarre dream.

"Oliver," she murmurs, peering up at his tight jaw from beneath her hood. When he doesn't reply, she slips her fingers into his, drawing his attention down to her. "What are we doing?"

"We need to get the other exiles within the walls," he says, sterling gaze flicking around them like he expects someone to jump them. She wouldn't be surprised if someone tried.

"Do you have a plan?"

Nodding, Oliver looks at her again. "We ask the rebels for help. I know someone we can try to contact."

Alicia's lips part in shock, wondering how he knows any rebels, but she doesn't push him for answers as he takes them into a building, its stone walls kissing the building beside it. She hears the inhabitants of the apartments on either side, a couple screaming at each other, the bark of a dog echoing through the walls, a child's wailing.

She barely hides her cringe, never realising how loud this place is, even at this hour.

The windows have been boarded up where the glass has been shattered. In the dim light from the street outside, Alicia finds a bar. Oliver takes his hand from hers to light a lantern that's covered in spider-webs, everything about him tense and alert. Alicia watches him bolt the door behind them as she pulls the scarf from around her head.

A long and dusty bar crowds the back of the space, empty shelves behind it. What windows aren't broken have marvellous views of the wet bricks on either side of them.

Alicia sighs, just glad to be off the street and away from prying eyes.

Oliver leads her up a narrow staircase to the apartment above the bar. She glances around the room, moth-eaten furniture greeting her. A tiny kitchen is tucked into one corner of the room and a wood bath is in another. There's no bed, nothing but a dirty couch and knocked over tables and chairs.

"We should be safe here," Oliver says, dropping his pack to the ground.

"Could have fooled me," Alicia mutters, eyeing the stained floorboards and wondering if there's a chance that she could fall through them if she steps on the wrong board. Oliver's chuckle breaks apart some of the tension in the room, and she lets out a breath, shaking her hands to try and disperse the nerves.

She sets down her supplies in the corner of the room, focusing on that to ignore the sounds of the outside world that trickle to them. She's already beginning to miss the quiet forest, even though the dangers there should terrify her more than what she could ever encounter in the slums.

"How do you know the rebels?" she dares to ask now that they're off the street.

Oliver leans against the wall and rubs at his brow before he answers, "Through a woman; Lena Lisenka." The scent of his cigarette reaches her as he lights it. Alicia stops unrolling her bedroll to look at him, the darkness of the place shadowing his gaze. The shock of his words steals her air.

"Are you sure?" she whispers, having no other idea how she's meant to reply. Lena. He knows Lena. The woman who pushed her into that tomb and asked her to find the grand duke's secrets before she married the man. The woman who faked her own death to escape him.

"You know her too," he states. It isn't a question.

Alicia stands then, staring at him with parted lips, not knowing how to reply to that.

"How do you know the rebels?"

"That's not your business," she snaps at him. All these years she's kept Lena's secrets, shrouded herself in masks and falsehoods so no one would ever glimpse them. Not just for herself, but for Lena too, and the things she had to do to escape the life she foolishly ran towards.

"It's my business now that we're here."

Features twisting, Alicia swipes up her satchel and shoves it over her head. "I can't even have a conversation with you without you trying to dig through my past like you have any right to know," she spits at him, her skin itching with frustration.

She doesn't want to be here. She never wanted to return to this place again. Not to the slums and certainly not to the capital.

Alicia strides for the door, needing to get out, but she pauses. He demands of her what he himself refuses to give.

Reaching into her satchel, Alicia yanks out the pictures she took from his home, sets them on the ground, then storms out of the room, ignoring him calling her name. She just keeps going, wondering if she can run all the way back to those walls and beyond.

She was a fool to think she could come back here.

The canal flows gently, cutting through the slums, the dark water filthy with what gets dumped within. Alicia reminisces for a moment, wrinkling her nose as she remembers that this is the water she learnt to swim in. How she didn't get sick and die as a child will always be a mystery to her.

Alicia lets out a sigh, knowing that remembering a life that she'll never have again won't help her. She continues walking, the cold wind playing with the tendrils of dark hair that have escaped its braid. She tries to find peace, just a moment of peace where her chest isn't so tight, and her throat doesn't burn.

She doesn't find her peace idling in a place that she destroyed herself to get out of, remembering how the canals flowed red with blood for those two years of a war that wasn't even fought in the capital. Her own war, one she'll never find redemption for.

The south is a lawless place, hardly any soldiers patrol the streets and those that do often turn a blind eye to the things that happen or take advantage of being able to do as they please, corruption an easy pill to swallow. Being forced to patrol the south is a punishment, a mark against the soldier's name. The nobles have no respect for the people in the slums, no care for them. It's what she was hoping to change when she became queen.

She crosses the canal, passing into the west. Right on the edge of the canal, she finds herself before a warehouse, the building still under construction with scaffolding bordering it and 'keep out' signs nailed to the wooden walls.

The shadows are dense here, thick like the darkest ink, spilling into alleys and crawling through the slats of the warehouses around her. But then she sees movement within the darkness of the warehouse. At this time, no one should be here. She knows because the place belongs to her family and Kieran wouldn't bother being here so late.

She moves towards the warehouse, her hands clenching into fists as her boots splash through murky puddles, slipping into the alley beside the building like a curious lamb.

Eyes scouring the dark, she wonders briefly if it's the Reaper who slinks through the dark, beckoning her to the sinister depths of his realm, asking her if she's ready to face the horrors of her past.

She doesn't see the butt of the gun before it connects with her temple with a resounding crack and she's slumping into webs of unconsciousness.

Alicia wakes slowly, a throbbing in her skull stealing a groan from her lips.

"Where are they?" a muffled voice asks, sounding like it's coming from another room.

Alicia blinks open her eyes but finds only darkness, a sack scratching at her cheeks. Running her tongue over her teeth, Alicia's hands twist in the rope around her wrists at her back. She finds her ankles tied to the legs of the chair she sits on.

With her pulse beginning a wild drum in her ears, she nearly misses the sound of a door opening and slamming shut.

"I assume you work for the duke," a man says.

Alicia blinks. Then blinks again, recognising the voice but not believing such a thing. "Kieran?" she asks, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

Then the bag is yanked from her head and her eyes strain to adjust. At first, she thinks the light plays tricks on her, that the lack of sleep and the shadows have muddled her brain. But then her eyes meet his, a mirror to her own, and she has to choke back a cry.

"Alicia?" he asks, eyes widening. She opens her mouth to speak, to tell him that yes, she's here, she's back. But no words come out, and she's frozen. "Gods." The ropes are stripped from her and Alicia rubs the reddened skin around her wrists.

Then she's in her brother's arms, and she can't stop the tears that fall as she clings to his shirt and breathes in the scent of her home.

"Kieran," she sobs, burying her face in his chest, hoping that this is real, that the Reaper isn't playing some cruel trick on her just so he can tear her heart out.

"How? How are you here?" he asks, leaning back to cup her face in his hands to really study her, his hazel gaze glistening, an array of emotions passing across his features. He's just as she remembers him, his eyes shadowed by the fall of his dark hair on his forehead, his frame lean but muscular.

"I don't rightly know," she says with a breathless laugh.

Kieran just stares at her, mouth partly open and eyes flicking between hers. "How did you survive?"

Alicia's gut clenches, the things she's seen rushing up to meet her, vying for her attention like the gripping hands of the homeless in the slums. "I had..." she begins, trying to find her words as she looks upon her brother's face, someone she could never quite dare hope that she'd ever see again. "I had a lot of help. I found Aunt Kathryn."

"She's alive?" he asks, his smile widening, but Alicia's features shutter, and she gives a small shake of her head.

"No, she passed... nearly two months ago now."

"Oh, Licia," he murmurs, pulling her close again, wrapping her in his warmth. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for everything. For the exile, for pa, for what you've had to go through. If only I'd been there—"

"No, Kieran," she says firmly, stepping back to wipe her cheeks. "It's not on you, it's not on any of you. My own actions got me here." And their ma's betrayal, but she won't tell him that. His heart is broken enough.

She wants to tell him everything, she's always wanted to tell her brothers what happened to her, what she did to get them out of the slums for years, but her ma forced her not to. Forget about it, never speak of it, it will be easier to deal with that way. But it wasn't.

In the silence, Kieran lifts a hand and touches her temple. She pulls back with a hiss and glances down at herself, drops of blood splattered on her shirt. "They thought you were..." He pauses, pressing his lips together.

"Working for the duke?" she finishes for him, wondering when her brother became someone who distrusts the duke.

"Tell me all how in all the Light you got back inside those walls," he says, and she doesn't miss how he's dodging the topic.

"It's a very long story," she mutters.

"Oh, I don't doubt it. But I knew if anyone could do it, then it would be my stubborn little sister."

She manages a laugh at that, looking up at her brother, the smile on his face working to ease the ache in her heart. "I thought I'd never see you again," she whispers.

He looks down at her, a frown forming between his brows. "I never lost hope."

She glances away from him, having lost count of the number of times she lost hope. She can't possibly tell him she had no intention of ever returning, that she was willing to forsake her name and forget her family. She was willing to turn her back on them all so she wouldn't have to hurt anymore.

But as she glances around at the cramped room they're in, registering the muffled voices beyond and the fact that her own brother just kidnapped her, she realizes she was an even bigger fool than she thought. Why did she assume she was the only one who saw the rot in Muovea and wanted to do something to change it? Her brothers were raised in the same slums she was.

"Tell me what's going on here," she orders, not letting him change the topic again. As much as she's glad to see him, she'll be even gladder to know he's safe.

"I've thrown my lot in with the rebels," he blurts.

Her gaze darts to his, praying he's joking. "You what?"

Stepping away from her, Kieran tugs his fingers through the curls of his hair, pacing the small room. "After the king died, the duke refused to allow the council to take control like they're meant to until the next king is crowned. It's not right, Alicia."

Every single word he speaks is like a blow to the gut. She just gapes at him like a fish out of water. The king is dead? The duke has full control?

"He has the Ronavics doing his dirty work and half the nobles in his pocket, too terrified to stand against him and risk exile. The other half appreciates the extra coin." He turns to her, his eyes begging her to understand. "Most of the rebels are still in hiding and those who aren't can only pull enough resources together to keep the slums from falling into famine."

Alicia stands still, her fingertips numb, her mouth dry. First, she reconciles with the fact that her brother is—indeed—part of the rebels now and there's nothing she can do to stop that. Out of the three of them, Kieran was always most like their pa; desperate to help and wallowing when he couldn't.

Then she accepts that things are worse off here than she thought they would be. Without the king, the queen, or the council, there's no one Sergey Volkov has to answer to.

But she pushes all other thoughts aside and focuses on the most pressing; the rebels and getting their help.

"Will the rebels come out of hiding if there are more people willing and able to fight for their cause?"

"You mean people willing to help the slums?"

Alicia nods.

"I... suppose so. Why? Who do you have?"

"You'll see, for now we just need to open the gate that leads beyond the wall."