Imellia Station, Gazda.

Britta and Jonathan Schuler stood in line together, neither of them speaking.

He held her hand tightly in his. Up ahead, a guard was waving someone through the gate. She watched as the young man shoulder his pack and nodded his thanks to the guard standing watch. Then he was through the gate and boarding the train. They would do the same. They would get past the guards and on the train.

They had to.

Someone gave a call signaling fifteen minutes until departure.

The train sat on the tracks to their left, the ticket booths and waiting room to their right. Down further, near the entrance to the train station, a small group of vagabonds begged for food and coins. The sound of the train seemed to drown out everything else, making the world seem to narrow to a pinpoint focus—get through the gate, get on the train, get through the gate, get on the train, get through the gate, get on the train.

Beside her, Leighton was smiling. She tried to smile too, if only for his benefit, but it was difficult. Viera was too nervous. The line was long and the guards were careful to check over each and every card. It was hard to watch—enough to make her sick.

Viera needed to move, to work off some of that anxious energy.

She angled her body so only he would hear and said, "Is there time for me to go to the restroom?"

"The line isn't fast." He nodded to the small waiting room. "I saw signs for them in there."

She rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek.

He pursed his lips, anxiety cutting through his features as he said, "Hurry."

Viera found the bathrooms without any trouble. The building was mostly empty, save for the ticket clerk and a guard standing watch near the entrance. She made a point of smiling and nodding to both of them.

On her way out of the bathroom, she paused just long enough to check her appearance in a small mirror. She looked old, older than she was. It was the expression on her face that did it. Fear aged people and it had aged her.

Her dark hair was loose and stringy from the rain, and her clothes were still damp. The fabric of her shirt clinging to her thin torso. Her dark grey pants where tucked haphazardly into her boots—she'd been in a rush when she'd shoved them on and hadn't cared. Leighton's jacket was large against her shoulders. It made her look small and afraid. She felt both of those things.

Viera finger combed her hair and tried to pull it back from her face. Shaking hands tucked the stands behind her ears. The action was a small, mostly useless, effort to tame her appearance. She wished to be brave, like the heroes she'd read about in novels.

Instead, she doubted everything about herself and what she was about to do. Viera felt like she was standing on the edge of a great abyss and, if she were not careful, she would fall in.

The power that thrummed in her gut wanted her to fall in.

Viera was halfway back to the line when one of the beggars caught her eye. Homelessness in Gazda had become more of an issue recently. Political strife and threats of war always affected the poor first. Taxes were escalating and rent around the city had already risen to astronomical heights. Without money, it was difficult to get the papers necessary to leave the city and move to a different one where things were more affordable.

And it seemed that the royals were too busy planning a birthday party and organizing a public slaughter to bother with helping their people.

Vayelle was growing more and more agitated with Erydia. Although the two countries had never existed peacefully. Vayelle was a conquering nation that had been eyeing Erydia's borders for half a century. While the current queen had done well with managing diplomatic interactions, she had grown lazy and people were beginning to suffer because of it.

The Vaylish and Erydian traded and interacted with one another only when necessary and, usually, the stretches of peace were short lived. A war was certainly on the horizon.

The already starving were dying. And those who had once considered themselves to be the middle-class of Gazda, where finding themselves ever closer to the bottom. And while the Gazda was one of the wealthiest cities in Erydia, it still had more than its fair share of poverty.

Even as she worked to leave, Viera still felt for her country. She worried what the future held for it. Either way, she hoped to be far from these lands by the time war did break out. Whatever was to happen between the two countries, she would face it head-on with Leighton.

Viera paused and looked at the gathered group of people—looked to the woman who had first caught her attention. She was older, perhaps around Viera's parents' age, with graying black hair and hollow eyes that shone with an energy that seemed to rage against her weary body. Something about that reminded Viera of her mother.

She felt Leighton's eyes on her back as she crossed the stretch of tiles and approached the woman. Viera didn't exactly know what she planned to do, she had no money; but she felt a gentle push in that direction, like the hand of the goddess on her shoulder. So, she went.

The woman sat curled up against the brick wall, her blue dress tattered and stained. Viera wondered when she had last bathed or eaten. Looking down at the woman, Viera's pockets had never felt emptier. She shouldn't have even gone there, not without having something to give the woman—shame, bitter and cold, filled her, but she forced herself to smile.

To her surprise, the woman smiled back.

She beckoned Viera closer, gesturing with a hand that looked younger than the face it belonged to. Viera knelt and the woman took her hand. Her fingers were almost jarringly cold against Viera's clammy skin.

"What can I do for you, my dear girl?"

It was an odd question, coming from a beggar who was certainly in need of Viera's help. Viera pulled her hand away and ran her fingers through her hair. Again, she searched for a reason why she was there, why she'd noticed this woman and why the goddess would will her to approach. She floundered.

The woman was watching, her dark brown eyes shining with curiosity.

Without saying a word, Viera slipped Leighton's jacket off and offered it to the woman. She kept her voice steady as she said, "I have no money to give you, but I have this. You can sell it or use it for yourself." Viera's throat burned with emotion, but still, she held the jacket out—an offering to the beggar before her.

Tentatively, the woman reached out and took the coat. She smiled and nodded her thanks. Thinking the interaction was done, Viera started to stand up but the woman caught her hand once more. Quickly, she twisted Viera's wrist until her mark was visible, laid bare by the bunched shirt sleeve. Viera yanked away from the woman, nearly falling backward in her haste to get away.

The woman smiled and pointed a gnarled finger at her. "You're one of them. One of the corpse girls."

Viera's blood ran cold, but she managed a lie, "It's a tattoo."

She merely smiled in response. "What is a marked girl like you doing getting on a train so very late at night?"

Viera swallowed and shook her head. "I'm not marked."

The woman merely shrugged. "Marked, unmarked. What does it matter to someone like me?"

From behind her, Leighton called her name—called the fake name. She turned to look at him. He'd made it to the front of the line. The guards were examining his identification card. Viera turned back to the beggar. There was another call for the train—five minutes.

"Keep the jacket. Sell it and buy yourself something to eat." Viera forced a smile, as if her heart were not about to race from her chest. She began to back away, her boots sliding towards the line where Leighton waited for her. "I would appreciate your discretion."

The woman tucked her arms under the thick fabric of Leighton's coat and smiled. She dipped her head in a mock bow and said, "Whatever you say, Your Highness."

Viera did not look back as she walked to meet Leighton. She forced her steps to remain steady, unhurried as she reached the guards and passed them her card. They ushered Leighton through the gate but he hesitated, waiting for her. She could barely breathe as the guard scanned her pass.

He noted her flushed cheeks and said, "Give me your full name?"

She almost said Viera Kevlar—almost. "Britta Clarisse Schuler."

The guard grunted in response and handed the card back to her. "Very well then." He nodded to the gate where Leighton waited for her. She thanked the guard, began to walk through the archway but a hand touched her shoulder—the second guard. He glanced to Leighton and then down to the card clutched in Viera's hands.

"How long did you say you were staying in Varos?"

The question wasn't directed specifically at her, but she answered it before Leighton could. "Three weeks."

The guard nodded slowly.

The train whistle sounded.

"No luggage?" he asked. "Gone for three weeks and you have no bags?"

The world seemed to slow. Viera saw Leighton begin to open his mouth but she spoke up, "My sister has gone ahead of us. She brought our things with her." The words came out quickly, perhaps a little too quickly.

The guard frowned but removed his hand from her shoulder. "How nice of her..."

"Yes. Very kind." Leighton nodded and leaned forward, offering a hand to Viera.

Viera gripped the card so tightly she thought she might tear it. Her eyes met Leighton's as she asked, "Am I free to go, sir? The train—"

"Yes. Yes." The guard waved her off. "Very well."

She didn't wait to see if he would reconsider.

Leighton caught her hand in his and they took off, walking briskly towards the waiting train. They paused on the platform to let an attendant examine their tickets. He pointed them to the correct car and told them how to find their seats. She followed at Leighton's heels. He was careful to keep his expression blank and his pace steady, she did her best to mimic his air of calm.

They were not running from something; they were merely two people late for a train that would leave without them if they weren't on it. That's all.

He held tight to her hand as they bounded up the three mental steps. They had only enough money for public seats and would have to spend the hours-long trip in a warm, slightly crowded, train car. She didn't mind it. In fact, she had never been happier to find herself cramped between a complete stranger and Leighton.

They did not speak as they settled into their seats. She could see the questions in his eyes, could tell he wanted to ask about the beggar—but it wasn't something she could explain here, not with so many eyes and ears. So, she only smiled and kissed his cheek.

His grip on her hand tightened as the last call for the train went up. Around them, people whispered and a few babies cried. Leighton draped an arm around her shoulders and leaned his face close to hers so he could whisper, "Is everything alright? You looked spooked just now. Did something happen with that lady?"

She shook her head. "No. I just wanted to give her the jacket." She tugged at the sleeve of her shirt, making sure it was secured in place.

He noted the action and frowned. "Did she—?"

"She must have seen it when I took the jacket off. It was clumsy of me."

"Will she say anything?"

Viera shook her head. "No. I don't think so."

He nodded and sank deeper onto the wooden bench seat.

The train sounded and slowly broke away from the station. Viera could barely breathe as it found its rhythm and they were moving, chugging along the darkened countryside and away from her home—from everything she'd ever known. They'd done it. Really truly done it.

When she turned to look at Leighton, he was grinning.

She cupped his face in her hands and shifted up in her seat so she could kiss him. He took his time tasting her; let his teeth graze her lips in a silent request. She opened for him, let the kiss linger and burn. This kiss was not a goodbye; it was a promise of more—a reminder. This was the beginning for the rest of their lives.

When she finally pulled away, he was still smiling.