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people. Instead of answering, he sprinted away, leaving me all alone in the dark.
    I needed to know if Papa was in our apartment or if the man from the brothel had taken him to his home. Pressing against the building, I moved to the other end of the street and glanced around the corner. Not a soul lingered and no lights shone. Most people put fabric over their apartment windows to prevent others from seeing inside. Taking a deep breath, I steeled my resolve. Staying close to the towering apartment buildings, I jogged several blocks, eventually passing the familiar blacksmith and bakery.
    When I reached my street, a group of men from the King’s Army exited my building. Ducking into a nearby doorway, my breathing became unsteady. Had they discovered my identity already? Thankfully, my father wasn’t being dragged out as they left. When all of them had passed, I ran inside, sprinting up the dark stairs and throwing open the door to my apartment.
    “Papa?” I frantically whispered. He didn’t respond. His bedchamber was empty. Relief and dread filled me. If the man from the brothel had him, that meant he was an honest man who truly wanted to help me. However, what if the soldats had already taken Papa and the ones I saw leaving the building were simply the tail end of the raid? The only way to know for certain was to question the apothecary to see if someone had come for my father’s medication.
    Ripping off the scratchy dress, I pulled on a pair of trousers, a long-sleeved shirt, and a leather vest. My father’s jacket hung on a peg near the door, so I grabbed it, along with a knit hat. The apothecary probably wasn’t at his shop. I’d have to wait nearby until he opened in the morning. After lacing up my boots, I slipped out of the apartment building, surveying the street. Not seeing any movement, I ran. The temperature continued to drop rapidly, and my breath came out in white puffs. I pulled my sleeves down under the jacket and over my fingers, trying to stay warm.
    When I reached the apothecary’s street, three soldats were dragging a girl about my age northward, away from me. Sprinting to the nearest doorway, I pressed my body flat against it, hoping they didn’t see me. A whistle sounded from somewhere above, and footsteps pounded on the ground as someone neared.
    “You there,” a man shouted, pointing at me.
    Stepping away from the door, I raised my hands in surrender.
    “You’re out past curfew,” he stated. “We’re taking you in for insubordination.”
    He had a sword strapped to his waist, no other weapons visible. He was at least a foot taller than I was, but his red uniform was loose, his cheeks sunken in. The two others stood a good thirty feet away, holding the girl. There was no way they were going to imprison me. Spinning around, I kicked high, hitting the man’shead and easily knocking him over. My father’s instructions to “finish him” came back to me. Yet, I couldn’t viciously kill like the assassin, so I took off running.
    A moment later, boots stomped on the ground behind me. I sprinted faster, hoping to put enough distance between us to afford me the opportunity to hide. Nearing the next street, the manshoved me and I fell forward. He jumped on top of me, pinning me to the ground. He forcefully yanked my hands back, tying my wrists together.
    “You stupid idiot,” he said, seething with rage. “You’re going to the executioner for this.” He grabbed my arms and hoisted me to my feet, dragging me to where the other soldats stood waiting.
    The menpushed me and the girl forward, and we started walking down the street. The girl cried and pleaded with them to release her while I fumbled with the rope around my wrists, trying to untie it. There was no way I was going down without a fight.
    A body suddenly fell from the rooftop, landing in front of us with a bone-chilling thud . The girl screamed and tried running away, but the men held her in place while they withdrew their swords.