Sable Arden's Arc

Chapter 7 of 3

The enforcers had seen her face at the stall. Sable knew it the moment the door burst behind Petra. She and Petra split in the dark. Sable ran alone. Now every street lay open to her, but her patched grey coat marked her like a flag. Two enforcers had looked straight at her. They would remember the coat. They would call it out to every patrol. She pressed into a doorway and looked down at herself. Grey wool, worn thin, sewn with mismatched patches. She had worn it for years. It was the first thing anyone would name. She could not cross to the maintenance corridor while she wore it. She needed to stop being the woman in the grey coat. A flute trilled nearby. Sable's head snapped up. Cora and Kevin Keld sat on a low step, the ten-year-old twins who had played her banned melody without any lesson. Cora held her flute. Kevin sang under his breath. A boot heel struck stone at the far end of the street. "They're looking for grey," Sable whispered, crouching to them. "I can't move." Cora lowered the flute. Kevin was already shrugging off his shoulder bag. Inside sat wrapped ration blocks in bright colors, blueberry and pumpkin and chai, and folded sheets of music beneath them. He pulled out a delivery smock, brown and shapeless, the kind runners wore. "Trade," Kevin said. "Nobody looks at a kid's runner." Sable shed the grey coat. Her hands shook. That coat held years of her. She stuffed it deep in Kevin's bag under the ration blocks. She pulled the brown smock over her shoulders. It hung loose and plain. Cora tugged a scarf up over Sable's red hair. "Walk with us," Cora said. "Slow. Eat one." She pressed a blueberry block into Sable's hand. Boots came closer. Kaine Sevente rounded the corner. His black uniform caught the low light. A whip hung coiled at his hip, a shock stick at the other. He stopped and swept the street with flat eyes. Sable's throat closed. She bit into the ration block and chewed. Kaine's gaze passed over three figures. A woman in a brown smock, chewing. Two children with a flute. He looked for grey and found none. "Curfew soon," he said. Short. Cold. "Move." "Yes, sir," Cora said, sweet as anything. They walked. Sable kept her steps even. She did not look back. When they turned the next corner, her legs almost gave out. The coat was gone now, and with it the woman the enforcers hunted. But Kaine Sevente had seen the twins' faces up close. He had marked the flute and the bag of sheets. Sable could move freely again. Cora and Kevin could not. She had traded her danger to two children, and they carried it now down every street they walked.