Chapter 1: The Spark in the Dark
The awning groaned. Yoko dropped from it anyway, boots slapping stone. The Midnight Market opened under him in a rush of sound—calls, claps, clinks. Lattice lanterns threw moving color across stalls. The ground hummed, a steady pulse through the cobbles. Warm night air, a little smoke, a little spice. He landed, coat flaring, golden Heartlash snug at his hip. The whip's glow beat with his pulse. He grinned.
"Evening!" he called, loud enough to carry. "Miss me?"
Vendors lifted their hands, some laughing, some rolling their eyes; they couldn't hide the smiles behind.
"Yoko, you little menace," a baker barked, tossing him a small sweet bun.
He caught it one-handed. "Payment accepted," he said, biting in. "Quality inspection... mmm... passed."
Kids shrieked past, bare feet tapping. A man sang his praises off-key, his wife elbowing him to fix it. People stood taller for no apparent reason. A soft glow ran under Yoko's skin—there, then gone—and the mood in the aisle eased again.
"Spread out," Yoko said, and the Emberweave Collective moved without fuss.
Kalia tucked herself by a vegetable stall. Scar lines across her fingers, careful hands. She hummed under her breath, barely there, and coaxed a pinch of gentle light into a tiny charm. An older woman blinked as the charm lit the greens in her basket.
"Thank you, dear," the woman said.
Kalia's voice came out thin, but steady. "Hold it like this. Closer to your eyes."
Yoko stopped beside her. "See? Your voice lights this place better than any orb."
Kalia's cheeks colored. "It's nothing."
"It's everything," he said softly, moving on.
Dorn already had a toddler on his shoulders. The kid sniffled into Dorn's hair. Dorn's laugh boomed. "Where's your momma, little spark? Bet she's worried sick! We'll find her before she eats all the glowfruit without you."
The kid hiccupped a giggle. People nearby relaxed at the sound.
Seryn faced a lamp vendor with a ledger in one hand. Her eyes missed nothing. "Two crates. No, three. Same rate as last week. We both know your stock is up, not down."
The vendor sputtered. "Inflation—"
"Three," Seryn repeated. "We'll place them on the main streets. Your lanterns get seen, you sell out. Fair?"
A beat. "Fine," the vendor sighed. "You're brutal."
"Accurate," Seryn said.
Yoko leaned in. "Remind me never to haggle against you."
"You already do," Seryn said, but a ghost of a smile tugged her mouth.
Ryk balanced on a railing, three glowfruit spinning between long fingers. "Behold," he announced. "Art."
The left fruit slipped. "Whoa—!"
Yoko slid under, palm up. Thwap. Fruit saved. Ryk hopped down, bowing. "Assist from the hero. As planned."
"Mm-hm," Yoko said, handing him the fruit. "Maybe keep the art above the ground next time."
Ryk winked at a trio of teens, then made the fruit reappear from behind one girl's ear. She squealed. He grinned, already angling toward the fountain where the team usually met.
They gathered. Water burbled. Lanterns floated in its reflection. Yoko took a breath and quickly checked faces, posture, and eyes. They were good. He knew when they were hiding something; tonight, the shadows stayed where they belonged.
The hum under the stone shifted.
thrum—
Lanterns stuttered. Voices dipped. Heads turned without meaning to. Yoko felt the note crawl along his spine. Too low. Wrong.
That again.
He straightened. "You feel that?"
Seryn's jaw set. "Yes."
Kalia's hum died. Dorn's hands lowered the toddler to the ground, gentle and fast. Ryk's smile thinned, eyes scanning.
A shout cut through the aisle.
"Stay back!"
It came from near a spice stall. A family—mother, father, older son—pinned against baskets and cloth. Five thugs in cracked gear crowded them, hands wrapped around blades that hissed and spat with dirty resonance.
zzzt—hiss—zzzt—
"Wallets, crates, now," one thug said. He jammed his blade at the boy. The air around it warped. People shrank away. A baby started crying, the sound brittle against the hum.
Yoko's grin fell away. The laugh in his chest cooled and sharpened.
"Emberweave," he said, already moving, "let's spark this up."
Heartlash uncoiled with a whisper, then a bright, hungry sound.
whip—FWIP—
He stepped into the open. "Hey! You boys picked the wrong market to mess with."
The leader sneered. "Back off, clown."
"Clown?" Ryk murmured. "Rude."
Yoko swung. The golden arc sang. CRACK!
The first blade's noise broke like thin glass. The thug jerked back with a curse, hand buzzing. Yoko bounced on the balls of his feet. "You can still walk away."
"Get him!"
They rushed.
Dorn hit the closest one like a wall with his legs. WHAM. The thug wheezed, swung wild. Dorn blocked with his forearm, winced, grinned wider. "Bad manners!" He shoved the man into a stall post. BONK. "Market rule number one—say please."
Seryn didn't bother with jokes. She slid to the side, fingers tapping quick patterns against a stall edge. Tik-tik—tik— She snapped her hand out, a short tone slipping between the thugs.
zzzzip—
Two resonance blades sputtered. The men stared at their failing weapons. "What the—?"
"Try a stick," Seryn said, moving to the next.
Kalia knelt by the family, hands up where they could see. "Stay low," she whispered. Her voice trembled, but she didn't stop. She sang a quiet line, no showy flourish, just a steady thread. A thin veil rose, clear as air but firm at the edges. The mother flinched when a stray swing slapped the veil. Thap. It held.
"You're safe," Kalia said, breathy.
Ryk launched from a stall roof, knees tucked. "Delivery!" He landed on a thug's back—WHUMP—arms snaking under the man's to lock him. The thug swore and bucked. "Ever had a clown on your shoulders?" Ryk chirped, twisting. He whipped a cord around the man's wrists and yanked. shhk. "Hands off the nice people."
The leader came hard at Yoko, blade humming back to life with a greasy rip. "Die, hero!"
Heartlash snapped across Yoko's forearm. He felt the heat, then nothing. He swung low. CRACK— The leader's blade hiccuped. Yoko stepped inside the man's reach and shoulder-checked him. The leader stumbled. Yoko planted, lash whirling back into his grip.
"THIS MARKET'S CLOSED TO COWARDS!" he shouted, and the crowd, rattled but listening, gave a shaky cheer.
Another thug tried to flank Yoko. Seryn's hand flicked. The man's weapon coughed sparks and died. He swung with his fist instead.
"Dorn," Yoko called.
"On it."
Dorn caught the punch, squeezed, and smiled with too many teeth. "Nope." He pushed the thug into a barrel. SPLASH. Pickled something sloshed onto the stone. People laughed, a tight sound that eased after the first few seconds.
The leader roared and charged again. Yoko's eyes narrowed. The hum under the stone dipped, and for a second, a slow cold pulled at his ribs.
Not now.
He spun Heartlash in a tight circle. The glow brightened, the rhythm syncing to his chest. He let the warmth in, let it travel down his arm.
"Breathe," he told himself.
The leader drove the blade at Yoko's side. Yoko stepped in and wrapped the whip around the man's wrist. The lash pulsed.
thrum—
A soft wave rolled over the man. His face changed—panic slipping to calm. His grip loosened. The knife clanged against the stone. CLANG.
"Take a breath," Yoko said, steady. "Step back."
The leader blinked, dazed, and did as told.
Ryk kicked his captive's knees. The man collapsed to the ground with a grunt. "Night-night."
Kalia kept her veil steady. Sweat gathered on her brow. Seryn touched her shoulder. "Good," she said, curt but full. Kalia nodded, jaw tight, and held on until Yoko waved clear.
"Down," one thug muttered, seeing Dorn's shadow. He lay flat without being asked. Dorn laughed. "Smart."
The last thug made a stupid choice. He yanked a knife from his boot and lunged at Yoko's back.
"Yoko!" Ryk shouted.
Yoko turned in time. Heartlash whistled. The lash wrapped the knife hand and popped the knife free. The thug swung with his other fist. Yoko ducked and swept his foot. The man flopped onto the stone. THUD. Ryk planted a knee on the man's wrist and tied him in two motions, mouth moving. Arms in. No, the other way. There you go."
Silence rolled in, then cracked open.
Cheers. Loud, messy, real.
Yoko exhaled. The glow under his skin dimmed back to its usual soft line. He raised both hands and gave the crowd a silly bow. "We'll be here all night," he called. "Try the glowfruit, tip your vendors!"
Laughter came easier now.
The family's father stood, shaking. He bowed quickly and low. "Thank you. Thank you."
"Get home safe," Yoko said. He looked at the older son, who still held his breath like he hadn't been allowed to breathe for a full minute. "You did great. You kept your folks behind cover. That counts."
The boy nodded, eyes wide. "You—your whip—how did you—"
"Practice," Yoko said. "And friends."
Dorn shook pickle juice off his hands and made a face. "I smell heroic."
"Like a sandwich," Ryk said.
Seryn snorted. "You always smell like that."
Kalia rubbed her palms as if to wipe off the tremor still in them. Yoko caught the motion.
"Hey," he said, voice low. "That veil was clean."
Her mouth tipped up. "I didn't drop it."
"You didn't," he said, and meant every word.
Market runners came with cords and clamps to secure the thugs. A few vendors argued over who claimed the wrecked blade parts; Seryn sorted it out with three sentences and one look. Ryk told a toddler that he was seven feet tall and only looked normal because of special shoes. The kid believed him. Dorn flexed. The toddler from before was reunited with her mother and was waving like he was in a parade.
Yoko walked the edge of the scene, checking faces, checking the small things. A stall had spilled. He knelt and picked up a trinket from the ground: a tiny music box shaped like a star. A hinge had snapped. He thumbed it open; the tune stuttered, thin and off.
Tick... tik-tik... t—
His chest tightened. A flash of a voice he didn't let inside for more than a second—You didn't save me—and then he shut the door on it hard.
"Easy," he whispered to the box, not sure if he meant it for the metal or for himself. He touched the broken hinge, letting a faint tone line run from his throat to his fingers. Hum— The metal shifted. Click. He wound the key once. The melody came back simple, a small song for small hands.
The girl who owned it stood there with wet eyes and a bite mark in her lip like she'd been holding in a scream. Yoko held the box out.
"Might need to be gentle," he said.
She nodded fast. "Thank you."
He wiggled his fingers in a goofy flourish. The girl smiled for real and ran to show her mother. The tune trailed behind her, soft and plain.
His laugh didn't come right away. He let the weight sit, just for a breath. The low note in the stone tugged, slow and dark. He could almost hear a city sighing.
Not tonight.
He shook his shoulders out and found the smile again. He clapped Dorn on the back. "Nice barrel work."
"Thanks," Dorn said. "My back is now marinated."
Seryn lifted the ledger. "We still need those lanterns moved."
"Right," Yoko said. "Ryk, help the runners. Dorn, carry two at a time. Kalia—" He hesitated. "You alright?"
Kalia exhaled, shaky once, then steadier. "Yeah."
"Stay with me for a bit," he said. "We'll walk the middle street."
She nodded.
They worked. Lanterns went up along a curve of road that tended to go dark when the night ran long. People kept stopping Yoko to squeeze his arm, say thanks, and press small things into his hands—bread, a string doll, a ribbon. He made a point of taking them all.
An older man caught his sleeve. "You shouldn't shout at them like that," he scolded. "One day, someone will stick a blade you don't see in you."
Yoko smiled. "I'll try to shout from the side next time."
"I'm serious."
"Me too. Mostly."
The man sighed and patted his arm anyway.
The lanterns burned steadily. The market found its rhythm again. Kids resumed their game. The singer fixed his pitch after three tries. The hum underfoot settled a little closer to the right.
Ryk jogged back, hair sticking up. "Lanterns done!"
"Good," Seryn said. "We head out in ten."
Dorn lifted a crate as if to test himself and then put it down when Kalia gave him a look. "Fine, fine. No more showing off."
"Since when?" Ryk muttered.
"Since she looked at me that way," Dorn said, like that explained everything.
Yoko snorted.
He drifted toward the fountain. The water caught the colored light and chopped it into small pieces that ran over the stone. He rolled his shoulders. The bright scarf at his neck—soft, frayed threads—tugged in the warm wind. He caught it with two fingers and smoothed it down. It hummed against his skin in a memory he didn't touch.
"Another day saved," he said, quietly, to no one.
For a second, he heard the echo of his own voice from a night he didn't want to think about, and the word tasted different. He let it pass. He looked up. The spires cut the sky. The lantern glow is mixed with the far lattice lines. No big speech. No dramatic vow. Just a breath, a look, the tiny click in his jaw as he set it.
"Boss?" Ryk called. "We're grabbing noodles or what?"
Yoko turned, a grin coming back easily. "Noodles. Then patrol."
Dorn raised a fist. "Noodles!"
Seryn lifted a brow. "Patrol after food is a bad idea."
"Then it'll be a fast patrol," Yoko said.
Kalia laughed, light and real. "Okay."
They started moving. Behind them, market hands dragged the tied thugs toward a watch post. Ahead of them, steam rose from a cart, broth and salt thick in the air. The hum under the stone held. A breeze slid through the lanes. The city looked fine.
Yoko's hand brushed the music box shape in his pocket, just for a heartbeat. He didn't take it out. He didn't say her name. He set his shoulders, felt the steady beat under his skin, and walked into the next street, Heartlash tapping his hip to the same bright rhythm.
thrum—
The street's hum slipped. Lantern color thinned. The sound folded into a low, old tone he knew too well.
Four years earlier.
Stone sweated in the youth ward. Water dripped. drip... drip... The air carried a dull weight that pressed on lungs and thoughts. A looped note lay under everything. uuunnnn—
Yoko, twelve, sat on the cold floor of a small cell. Knees up. Arms around shins. Chin on arms. Face dirty, eyes puffy. His lips moved. He hummed a silly tune, light and off-key on purpose.
"Da-da-daaa," he whispered, making it stupid so the little kids in the row could smile. "Da-da—oops—da."
A boy across the aisle snorted. A girl two cells down mirrored the bad beat on her knuckles. Tap—tap—tap. Another kid hissed for quiet, then failed and giggled. A guard glared from the end of the hall and moved on.
Yoko kept the tune small. If it stayed small, the loop didn't crush it. He pretended his chest was bigger than it was. He pretended he was fine.
Footsteps. Not the heavy ones. A soft pair. They stopped at his bars.
"You've got quite the voice, little spark," a woman said.
Yoko startled and then leaned toward the bars. Sylra knelt there, eyes ember-red, uniform neat, hair pulled back too tight. She looked tired in the way grown-ups look tired when they still try to smile.
He wiped his face with the back of his hand. "It's not good. It's dumb."
"It's brave," she said.
She slid a slice of glowfruit through the bars. Its light was small but real. He stared at it like a miracle and then took it quickly and carefully.
"Thank you," he said, words tumbling. "I'll share."
"It's for you," Sylra said.
"I'll still share," he said, and broke it in two. He passed one half to the boy in the next cell with a grin. The boy mouthed thanks. Yoko held his half like it would vanish if he blinked.
Sylra watched him. "What's your name?"
"Yoko," he said. "Lemey. I'm not a troublemaker, I swear. I mean, I was, like, a little. But not like—" He shut up and bit the fruit. Juice hit his tongue and almost made him cry again. He forced a smile instead. "My parents used to play real music. It filled the loft. It wasn't like... this."
His eyes slid to the stone. The loop hummed. uuunnnn—
"Your parents?" Sylra asked, voice gentle.
"Elira and Toren," he said, fast. "They made things hold. They fixed stuff. It was loud and good. Do you know them? Do you know if they—" His voice snagged.
Sylra reached through the bars and brushed his hand. Her glove was warm. "They're safe," she said. "Just misguided. They need time. They'll understand."
"Safe?" Yoko said, holding the word the way he held the fruit. "So they're okay?"
"They will be," she said. "If we all do our best."
His chest loosened a little. "I can do that."
"I know," she said. "My brave boy."
He shouldn't have liked the words as much as he did. He did anyway.
Night. The ward went dim. Cells swallowed breath and grief. The loop held steady. uuunnnn—
Soft steps again. A shape at the bars. Sylra's whisper. "Yoko."
He sat up fast. "Yeah?"
She pushed an extra blanket through. "It gets colder after lights. Don't tell, alright?"
He pressed it to his face. "Thank you. You'll get in trouble."
"I know how to avoid it," she said. "You're shaking."
"I'm not," he said. He was.
She smiled. "You are. It's alright." She reached, and he leaned closer before he could second-guess it. She slowly and carefully tucked the blanket around his shoulders through the bars. "My brave boy," she said again, softer.
He laughed once, a slight, embarrassed sound. "Brave-ish."
"Brave," she said, and her eyes warmed. The warmth moved through the bars and sat in his bones.
Another day. He rubbed his wrist and winced. A rough older kid had twisted it as a joke. It wasn't broken, just angry.
Sylra came by and saw him hide the flinch. "Let me show you something," she said.
"I'm fine."
"Humor me." She slid her hand through, palm up. "Hand."
He hesitated, then placed his hand in hers. Hers was steady. She guided his fingers in the air, slow arcs. "Breathe with me."
He tried to match her breath. His chest lifted, stuttered, and found a rhythm next to hers.
"Good," she said. "Now gently press your other hand here." She shaped his fingers above the sore spot without touching the wrist itself. "No force. Just attention."
He followed her lead. Heat gathered under his skin. The ache dulled.
"Whoa," he whispered. "That's—"
"A simple cadence," she said. "For pain."
He grinned at her, open. "You're like a secret wizard."
She laughed under her breath. "Don't say that. You'll get me fired."
"We'll run away," he blurted without thinking, then flushed.
She tilted her head. "Run where?"
"Uh," he said. "I didn't get that far."
Her smile briefly went strange, like something sharp hid under it, then became soft again. "One day, when you're older and stronger, you could be a great hero, Yoko. Maybe even lead Cantara." Her eyes shone with a light that wasn't just kindness.
He swallowed. "Me?"
"You," she said. "You feel it, don't you?"
He nodded, too fast. "Yeah. I feel... something. When I laugh, people... I don't know. They stop crying for a second."
She squeezed his fingers. "That's a gift."
"Thanks," he said, almost giddy. "You're very—uh. You're very nice. Like a—like a girlfriend." He said it like a joke and then wished to crawl under the cot.
She didn't get mad. She didn't even look weird about it this time. She smiled in that same strange way. "Am I?"
He covered his face with his sleeve. "Forget I said that."
"I won't," she said, and he couldn't tell if that was good or bad. He decided it was good. He needed it to be good.
Nights blurred. She came when she could. Sometimes, she brought a bit of bread. Sometimes, she only had words. "You're not alone," she said so often that he started to hear it in the loop between the bars.
One late shift, she unlocked his cell.
The click was soft. clik.
He sat up, heart jumping. "What—?"
"A private lesson," she whispered. "You're improving. We should help you control it. It will keep you safe."
"Now?"
"Now," she said. "Quietly."
He looked down the hall. No one watched. He slipped out.
She led him to a storage alcove. The lamp there was dim. The smell was dust, oil, and damp cloth. She shut the door. Clik. The loop outside became a muffled line. uuun—
"Breathe," Sylra said, voice gentle. She stood behind him. "Trust me."
"I do," he said at once. He meant it.
Her hands rested on his shoulders. He went still. No one touched him like that here. He let himself lean back a little without meaning to.
"Good," she said. "In. Out. In." Her mouth was near his ear. "You're special, Yoko."
His throat worked. "Really?"
"Yes," she said. "You feel it, don't you?"
"I... yeah." He didn't know what he felt. His head buzzed. His chest felt full and empty at the same time. Fear and warmth tangled, and he couldn't name either.
Her hands slid from his shoulders down his arms, slow. He went rigid. "Sylra, I—"
"Shh," she breathed, still soft. "You're safe."
He stared at the wall. A crack ran down the stone. Water trickled in it. tick... tick... His fingers trembled. He focused on the crack like it could hold him steady.
"This is too—" he started, small.
"It's alright," she said, closer. "You're my spark. I'll guide you."
He swallowed. His stomach flipped. He didn't understand his own breath. He nodded because he didn't know what else to do.
The scene shifted in time the way bad dreams do.
Later, Yoko curled on his bunk under the extra blanket. The ward was quiet except for the loop and the drip. uuunnnn— drip. He had a scarf in his hands. It was bright, soft, warm from his grip. Sylra had given it to him when she walked him back. "A gift," she'd said. "So you remember."
He tied it around his neck with clumsy fingers and held it there like it could keep him from coming apart. He smiled at it with a cracked smile and let a tear fall into the fabric.
"She cares about me," he whispered to the dark. "I'm her spark. Not alone."
He said it again and again until his voice broke on the pillow. He woke later with the scarf mark on his skin and a knot in his chest he didn't have words for.
Days. Weeks. The loop never stopped. Guards shouted. Kids were taken to "reweaving," and some came back quiet, making his skin crawl. Sylra still came. Some days, she smiled like nothing had happened. Some days, her hands shook, and she hid it by straightening his blanket three times in a row. He pretended not to see.
One night, the ward changed in one breath.
Alarms punched the air. WEE—OOO—WEE—OOO! Red light ran down the hall and made every face look wrong. The floor trembled. BOOM. The loop hiccuped and went wild. u—u—u—uuUUU—
Yoko jerked upright and stumbled to the bars. "Hey! What's happening?" he yelled, voice too high.
"Riot!" someone screamed. The word came from everywhere.
Keys rattled far away. Clangs. The heavy door at the end of the row slammed open. PRANG. Bodies. Smoke. Shouts. "Move, move!" "Hold the line!" "They're through!"
He grabbed the bars. "Sylra!"
He only meant to say her name in his head. It came out like a plea.
She appeared through the mess, her breath harsh, her hair loose, and her uniform torn at the shoulder. One hand pressed to her lower belly as if it hurt. Her eyes found him, and something raw moved across her face.
"Yoko!" she shouted, pushing between two running boys, shoving a guard away without looking. "Stay where you are, I'll get you out!"
He jammed his arm through the bars as far as it could go. "I'm here! I'm here!"
"I know," she said. It wasn't the soft voice. It was an authentic voice, ragged. "Hold on."
She fumbled at her belt for the key. A blast went off down the corridor. FWOOOM. The lights flickered. Smoke rolled in. She coughed and kept moving. Her hand slipped off her belly and came away red. He didn't see it; later, he would tell himself he didn't.
"Hurry!" he yelled, tears raw in his throat.
She reached the lock. The key scraped. scr—scr— A bolt of white noise tore down the hall from a busted coil or a panicked prisoner. ZZZT—!
It hit her in the side. She jerked like a puppet on a string and hit the stone. THUD.
Time did something ugly then. It stretched and broke.
"Sylra!" Yoko screamed. The sound scraped his throat. "SYLRA!"
She lay on her side. Blood pushed out under her. The scarf at her neck slid loose, the end unfurling across the wet floor. She blinked up at him, eyes unfocused for a second, then locked on him with a hurt that was more than the wound.
She moved her mouth. He leaned into the bars so hard they bit his ribs. "What?" he yelled. "I can't—what?"
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and he heard it because he needed to.
She fumbled at her hip. Her hand came up with a thin blade. His brain went slow. "No," he said, but his voice was nothing against the alarm.
She stared at him. He stared back. For a heartbeat, the ward noise faded. There was just her eyes, just his breath, just the bright scarf on dirty stone. She lifted the blade with a shaking hand.
"No, no, NO!" he shouted, throat tearing. "DON'T—"
She drove it into her own heart. The breath left her in a sound he would hear in empty rooms for years. Her body went slack around the steel—the red on the floor spread. The scarf was soaked at the edge.
Everything crashed all at once. The alarms, the screams, the loop. WEE—OOO— uuun— "SYLRA!!" He slammed his chest into the bars and reached even though he knew he couldn't get far enough. His fingers clawed at the air.
A guard grabbed him from behind through the bar gap and yanked him back. "Move, kid!"
"Let me go! LET ME GO!" Yoko fought like a trapped animal. His elbow smashed into metal. CLANG. His breath tore at his lungs. "I can get her, please—"
"She's gone," the guard snapped without looking, his voice flat from too much noise and too much night. Another guard popped the cell. Clak. Hands hauled Yoko out. He flailed. His fingers snagged the scarf as it dragged across the floor. He clutched it. A guard slapped his hand. He held tighter, and the fabric slid free from the blood edge with a wet sound. Shlp.
They pulled him down the corridor. He looked back and saw her one last time, small in the red light, eyes half-open like she was trying to see something behind him.
He screamed until his voice broke. "SYLRA!"
No one heard him over the alarms. Or maybe they did and kept moving because there were too many screams to sort.
Out through a side hall. Past a door that bent on its hinges. CREAK. Past men he knew and men he didn't. Someone threw a jacket at his head. Another shoved him toward a stair. BOOM—dust—cough— He stumbled, half-blind, scarf in his fist, chest burning.
The night outside was wet. Rain hit his face in hard, clean lines. shhhaa— The air outside the ward didn't hum. It rang with sirens and chaos, but the old loop was gone. His knees gave out on the steps.
A woman in a simple coat caught him before he fell the rest. "Easy," she said. Her hands were steady. She wasn't Choir. She moved like the people his parents liked. "I've got you."
He pushed at her and then didn't. He crashed against her shoulder and sobbed. He hated the sound but couldn't stop it. "She—she—"
"I know," the woman said, not like she really knew, but she knew he needed someone to say that. "Hold on to me. Breathe."
He clung to the scarf and pressed it to his face. It smelled like her. It smelled like the ward. It smelled like fear. He gagged and then pulled it closer anyway.
"I'm her spark," he choked, the words torn. "She cares. She—she cared."
The woman's coat got soaked. She kept a hand on the back of his head and one on his shoulder and let him shake.
Behind them, the Shroudhold's broken spire showed in the rain, lights blown out in a jagged pattern. Guards and prisoners ran in every direction. A blast went off far across the yard. fwump. Someone laughed in the distance in a way that wasn't joy.
The woman tried to lift him. "We need to move."
"I can't," he said, voice gone. He stood anyway because her hand didn't give him a choice and because standing was better than falling.
They crossed to a wagon. He climbed in with a stumble. Other kids huddled there, faces blank or wild. One boy rocked. One girl stared at her hands. Another hugged a broken doll without blinking.
Yoko looked down at the scarf in his lap. Water ran off it in thin lines. The bright threads were darker now where they had touched the floor. He rubbed the clean edge between his thumb and finger until it hurt.
"I'll be strong," he whispered to the scarf. "I'll be strong, I'll be—"
His voice failed. He pressed his fist to his mouth and breathed around it.
The wagon lurched. rrrkk— The gate swung. They rolled out into the city under a sky that didn't care either way.
Time moved. It didn't heal. It just moved.
Present.
Lantern sound crept back in. The noodle cart hissed. ssshhhh. Ryk was already arguing with the vendor about extra egg. Dorn was telling the same joke for the third time. Seryn glared them into something like a line. Kalia stood close to Yoko without touching him, eyes on his face like she could read small changes.
The scarf sat around Yoko's neck, dry now, bright from a hundred washings that didn't change what his hands remembered. He swallowed and let the street back in.
"Hey," Ryk called over. "Boss. You spacing out on noodles? Illegal."
Yoko blinked. "I was thinking about... sauce."
"Tragic," Ryk said. "Double sauce for the hero."
Dorn thumped his shoulder. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Yoko said. "I'm good."
Kalia watched a second longer. "We can go slow," she said, quiet.
"We don't do slow," Yoko said. He tried to say it like a joke. It landed half-right. "But... thanks."
Seryn shoved a bowl into his hands. "Eat."
"Boss orders," Yoko said, and lifted the noodles. Steam hit his face. The first bite burned and tasted like salt and meat and nothing he could name. He slurped too fast. "Hot."
"Baby," Ryk said.
"Shut up," Yoko said, mouth full.
They ate. People around them talked about prices like prices were the only thing to talk about. Someone strummed a cheap string and missed notes without caring. The street's hum settled. It wasn't perfect. It was enough for now.
Yoko finished and set the bowl on the cart with a clack. He looked up. The spires cut the sky the way they always did. He touched the scarf once. Just a brush. Not a prayer.
"Patrol," Seryn said.
"Patrol," Yoko echoed.
They moved out, simple and sure. Yoko fell into pace at the front. His hand dropped to the music box in his pocket, then to Heartlash. He walked. The beat under his skin matched his steps.
Somewhere in the maze of streets, a laugh rose and fell. It sounded normal. It sounded like any night. He let it pass through him without getting stuck, and he kept going.