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feel so ill I don’t care. “I fought well yesterday and I’d like my half day tomorrow.”
    She narrows her eyes and then surprises me by nodding - after a nudge from Crystal. The tiny victory gives me the colossal strength required to stand and walk into the gym.
     
    I proceed to have the worst day of my life. I do something I regularly disapprove of - I don’t work hard enough to break a sweat. The only good part is the men are also hungover and can’t summon the effort to tease me about last night. They do have enough energy to reenact my singing. I renew my vow never to drink again every time they do. The only thing which gets me through is the reminder of searching for the arrow tomorrow.
     
    I awoke the next morning, relieved to find the hangover gone. “Where are you going today?” Shard asks at breakfast.
    I shrug. “Just around.” My words are honest, not a deferral. I have no idea where I’ll go.
    “I’m taking my half day off this morning, as well. Do you want company on the walk in so you don’t get lost? We could meet up later, too.” He must originally be from the Middle or Inner rings, he’s too well-spoken.
    I can’t keep the relief off my face. “That would be great. Thank you.”
    Shard walks me into town and points to a…building? “I’ll be in The Slime. Come find me if you have any trouble.” Part of the roof has collapsed and someone has scratched the words “Ronah’s Slime” into the half-rotten wood above the door. My nose crinkles. Why would Shard willingly go in there? Surely any place with the word “slime” in its description should be avoided. He laughs at my expression and begins jostling away through the thick horde.
    I’m alone in the Outer Rings for the second time.
    I can’t help but remember what happened the first time. At least there’s daylight and I have some idea of how to get back to the barracks. Whispers trail after me as I wander. Ronah’s Slime starts to seem like an appealing place to be, but then I see people are stepping away, giving me a wide berth. Why would they be doing that? I straighten when I realize. They’ve heard about my fight in the pits.
    I have a reputation. It’s better than worrying about plots to kill or sell me and I’ll take anything which makes it easier to get through the mob.
    Somehow, I drift to the opening where the naked ladies dance in the windows. Five different paths converge to this one point. It’s as good a place as any to ask my questions.
    “Excuse me,” I say to an old lady with a large hump on her back. Old ladies are nice.
    “Get off ya,” she snarls. I jerk away from her rancid breathe. Solis, what was her problem?
    I try again with the next person who looks my way, a young man. “Can you tell me–”
    “Not int’rested love. Jus had a tumble,” he says. He pushes me roughly, staggering past. I close my mouth after a few moments, rubbing my chest where he elbowed me.
    It’s the same over the next several hours. Obviously my reputation isn’t enough for the Bruma to listen to my questions, let alone answer them. These people are horrible. And I’m reluctant to threaten anyone for answers. I don’t know who these people are or what connections they might have. It’d be my luck to threaten the leader of some gang.
    I sit on a discolored step and try not to think about what might be getting on my trousers. I watch whores wave and dance in the tall building opposite me. Most of them seem like they’re just going through the motions, like puppets, their eyes empty. Pity washes through me as I watch their sad routine. What a way to live. There are some, though, who appear to genuinely enjoy what they’re doing. One beautiful woman dances in the top triangle window. She draws the desiring eye of nearly every man passing through - and the jealous eye of nearly every woman. She disappears periodically, probably to do things I’d rather not think about.
    Realizing my life could be a lot worse, I shove