Ezra Knox's Arc

Chapter 6 of 11

Ezra packed by lamplight. Two bags, one chest, the pendant zipped in an inner pocket. The stranger stood by the door with their coat on, hand on the knob, not turning it yet. "Before we go," the stranger said, "there is something about Friday you need to hear. About who you are walking toward." Ezra set the bag down. The room got very quiet. "Tell me," Ezra said. The stranger pulled a thick notebook from inside their coat and laid it on the table. Ezra opened it. Page after page showed building layouts, guard routes, timed patrols, the tavern marked with a red x. "They drew this," the stranger said. "They plan everything. The mural was not anger. It was practice." Ezra's hand went cold on the paper. The vandal was not a kid with a can. The vandal was someone who studied doors before they walked through them. Ezra closed the notebook and slid it into the chest beside the pendant. "We still go," Ezra said. "But not to the tavern. Not yet." The stranger nodded. Friday had a shape now, and the shape had teeth. Ezra led them out through the back garden. A wide ring of mushrooms and small wildflowers grew under the old stump there. Ezra had walked around it for years. They stopped inside it now. "Tell me one more thing," Ezra said. "Have they hurt anyone yet. Besides the wall." The stranger looked down at the bright caps. "The boy," they said. "The boy was first." Ezra's knees almost went. The pendant pressed against their ribs through the coat. The mural had not been the start. It had been the cover. Ezra stepped out of the ring and shouldered the bag. "Then we are not running," Ezra said. "We are hunting." The lamp went out behind them. The door clicked shut. Friday was still coming, but Ezra had turned to face it. At the gate the stranger paused and reached behind a stack of firewood. They pulled out a long iron bar, one end sharpened to a wedge, the shaft dusted with dried concrete. "They left this under the wall the night it came down," the stranger said. "I took it before anyone saw." Ezra ran a thumb along the edge. It was not a tool for paint. It was a tool for prying a person open. Ezra weighed it once, then handed it back. "Carry it," Ezra said. "We will need both hands free." The stranger slid the bar inside their coat. Ezra felt the list in their pocket shift from two names to a verdict. They would not wait for Friday at the tavern. They would find the vandal first, on ground Ezra chose, while the pendant still had warmth left to spend.