[Can’t Opt Out]

Stealth was gone to the wind as they rushed through the winding hallways of the top level of the holding cells, toppling over boxes of contraband as they followed Izurial. Unfortunately, the silverstrain was the only one who came to the upper levels often enough to have any idea of where they probably need to head—and really, even he was mostly going off of what he vaguely remembered of where an exit was located. If the material the building was made of weren’t such a question mark, Cravena might have tried to burn their way through it; she couldn’t, not without risking all of their lives—not to mention the lives of other people in the area and those far below them, trapped until more help could come.

The problem, it seemed, was that the building material could be something toxic. As they moved, Cheska babbled about how, decades ago, buildings in the city had been insulated with some sort of material that had turned out to be toxic when the fumes were breathed it. As fires were relatively uncommon in the underground cities of Lüshan—the smoke would have nowhere to go, so it was considered especially important to make sure flames never found purchase, leading to the heavy use of metal in building materials—it generally wasn’t much of an issue.

“They didn’t realize it was so toxic until later on,” Cheska told Olivier, Xavier still tucked into his arms, the child’s big eyes glued to the young woman as they moved.

“I heard it only becomes toxic after it's been sitting for a while, so nobody realized it would be a problem until later,” Cravena offered. “Fräthk gave me a bunch of stuff to study, about certain materials, so I’d know how to burn them—or when not to.” Her gaze narrowed on the walls as she muttered that the stuff covering it was a sort of paper, used to disguise whatever lay further under it.

“Actually,” Izurial wheezed, hand wiping over his forehead to splatter sweat he really couldn’t afford to lose over the floor, “I think this stuff was only added when you came to live here? I remember thinking it was weird, for everything to be… papered over when its not even nice paper—not that Fräthk cares about making this place nice or… anything. Makes sense now, if it’s hiding whatever is under it from you. Also makes sense that you’re brought back here so often?”

A brief discussion followed, in which it became clear that while Cravena didn’t always live within this particular building, she was generally only shuffled between a few, all of which had this same odd paper covering many of the walls. Izurial, who had been moved between quite a few buildings as needed, was very clear that Cravena only ever having seen three—maybe four—of Fräthk’s buildings was not the standard for most of the captives, nor was the paper a common sight. The conversation ended with the realization that, due to how easily she could escape, if she knew how to burn herself free, Cravena had likely been held in only buildings that could contain her… or perhaps kill her, if she attempted to flee. Hence, they would not be asking her to burn their way out unless necessary, lest her flames inadvertently kill them all.

As had been mentioned to Olivier earlier, most of the people in the cells were moved from building to building regularly. Part of it was that their abilities might be needed somewhere else, but it was also so Fräthk’s captives couldn’t make any connections to one another. Some of them had managed to make connections, however. In the case of the two women who had been the children’s minders before leaving their group, they had abilities suited to working together. Cordk’s abilities were so valuable that they had given him Renton, in order to make him behave better. The women had been moved about as a group, but Cordk and Renton had been living in this building for a while—likely due to Cordk’s mobility issues—so they actually knew Cravena, Cheska, and Porsq—the latter two having been kept there for quite a while as well, due to Cheska’ unknown abilities and Porsq’s flight risk—quite well.

When he thought about it, most of the people who had stayed had some connection to one another, even if it was sort of vague and hand-wavy. They knew each other. Chatted. Played the occasional game when the boredom of the cells became too much for them. Olivier had a feeling most of them weren’t friends, but neither did they hold much animosity for one another—well, mostly, anyways.

Of the other people who had remained with them, there were the two children and the teenager from the second floor of the holding cells. Despite some conversation with Izurial—who had also stayed with their group, obviously—the teenager had yet to choose a new name for herself. That was fine—a name was an important thing and choosing it shouldn’t be rushed—although every time someone referred to the girl by anything she got a bit surly. Olivier thought it was more teenage angst than anything, as she had been generally moody even before choosing to stay with their group.

It was a belief Porsq shared, leaning in to whisper to him and Xavier at one point about how he hoped he never grew up because he did not want to become that moody. As Olivier hadn’t exactly wanted to accidentally call upon the aether to strike the preteen dead, and therefore fulfill his wish of never becoming a teenager at all, he had gently told the boy that, for one, the hormones of growing up were a bitch and could cause issues with the nervous system and emotional regulation, and two, that he could be whatever sort of teenager he liked.

“Some teenagers,” he had assured the boy, “are perfectly nice.” He had followed this up with several short stories of his cousin Louis, who had always been a sweet, if too passive, of a person. Porsq, cute and severe, had nodded and stated that he wanted to be a teenager like Oliver’s distant cousin. Xavier, listening from Olivier’s arms, had nodded and said that he also did not want to end up an angry teenager.

They were both cute, and Olivier had to admit that out of all the people in their group, he most hoped to get the children to safety. This life was bad enough for the adults, but for the children… No, there was no way he would be able to leave them to this city and the chaos swirling within it. Even the idea of handing the little nameless girl over to her parents, if they managed to find them, sent a twinge through his heart. It would almost be better, he thought, if they didn’t find the girl’s parents. As all those who had left their group proved, the majority of the people Fräthk had taken would rather take their chances, either living on the streets or offering themselves up to Gëon or trying to find their own way out of Falmíer. In other words, there was a good chance they would be forced to hand the girl over to parents who fully intended to take her and try a route that Olivier doubted would succeed.

For the most part, however, he was painfully glad that the majority of their group had left them. He had done his part and gotten them out of the building—although it really was quite terrible that they had triggered the alarm, not even waiting for the rest of them to catch up before doing so. He wasn’t their minder, however, and most of the people who had left them had been on the more unpleasant side anyways; so, let them do what they want and potentially doom themselves. He had tried to help, and that was enough.

All that said, one of those more unpleasant people had stayed: the woman who was partially responsible for the death of Xavier’s mother. The woman rarely spoke, instead lingering on the peripheries of their group so quietly that whenever Olivier caught sight of her, he started, having effectively forgotten she was there. No one in the group really knew what to make of her—this woman who had prioritized herself over Xavier’s mother and caused her death. Aside from the teenager—and there was no one in their group who would be holding the teenager responsible for choosing herself over anyone else—everyone else who remained had come from that first level. They were people who had never bent their morals for Fräthk—never risked another person over their mission, never betrayed people they barely knew hoping to gain more trust from their captor—and yet, they could understand why someone would do it.

“Usually,” Cordk had told him during one of the moments when they had stopped to let him and Izurial breathe, “people do not die—not this early in someone’s rise through to freedom. I think if the child’s mother had not died, people would not think much of it. The wound is too fresh, too senseless, however.”

So, everyone contented themselves to mostly ignoring the woman, Porsq keeping his abilities trained on her and just sort of shrugging whenever anyone asked what was happening inside her head. According to what he was feeling from her, the woman was mostly just a mixture of emptiness and guilt. As long as she wasn’t feeling anything negative towards anyone in their group—although the boy had admitted the woman was sending some of the more unpleasant and thankfully-now-former members of their group bad vibes a few times—no one saw any reason to kick her out.

“Mostly,” the boy had laughed as he stuffed what appeared to be a sweet bun into his mouth, Izurial having raided more of the kitchens as they went, “it’s when they’re being buttheads. Saying things about how certain people are slowing us down, or suggesting all us kids be left behind because ‘we might make noise and get everyone caught.’” The boy had rolled his eyes so hard, Olivier had to smile, his Censor creating a memory of the moment for him.

It had started doing that at the second floor, after Xavier had so adorably glared at the woman who had caused his mother’s death. It was, to some extent, unfortunate that his rage was so cute, but it was, and Olivier’s Censor had recorded it and a thousand more moments of everyone, as they rose through the building. These were people, he and his Censor both knew, who might die at any moment. Several members of their group had shared information with him of Fräthk’s most dangerous people as they rose, and he knew at least a few of them might very well be capable of killing members of their group before anyone even had a chance to erect defensive barriers.

It was a terrifying reality, to know that someone might reach out an ability and snatch their heads from their shoulders before any of them could feel it coming—well, there was a chance that Porsq or Cheska would feel it coming. Porsq might feel the killing intent, Cheska might hear a new set of thoughts. It was really more a risk of them missing something or of them already being involved in a fight—after all, if they were already fighting for their lives, would anyone really notice another voice and power adding itself into the mix?

It was horrifying, and when he’d heard of several people’s abilities, his mind had once against spiralled back to Emilia’s case because according to what he knew of what had happened that night, Emilia and her friend had tried to run from Zachariah Lumos. He had given chase, and eventually, Emilia had killed him. They had tried to get away, and fucking stars and burning aether did he hate the law that Emilia was being charged under.

In no world should someone who had tried to run be charged with any crime. The photos Byron had shown him of the state of Emilia and Lux Archer had been in that night clearly showing how bruised and battered and scratched up they were from running through the woods, stumbling, crashing, slicing themselves on brambles and rocks. They had tried so hard to get away—and from what he could tell, The Black Knot had been trying to get to them. They had done the right thing—run and called for help—before finally, Zachariah Lumos caught them and Emilia killed him, keeping herself and her friend safe.

How terrified they must have been, running through the woods as a predator chased them, his skills leaving a visible mark on the forest—Olivier had seen those photos as well, of trees felled and rocks smashed—only Emilia’s defensive skills keeping them from being chopped to pieces.

Yet, it still wasn’t enough. Emilia was a non-dev, and somehow that meant she wasn’t allowed to defend herself, wasn’t allowed to be a scared girl—and while Olivier knew the girl was strong, even she must have felt at least a twinge of fear, surely? Here, moving through the holding cells, even with so many powerful people around him, Olivier felt fear tugging at his soul. He was surrounded by people, and yes, he wasn’t nearly as capable as Emilia was, but he could feel fear, and if someone came along who threatened him or these people?

No, he would not hesitate to kill them—the idea of trying to spare them and potentially risking all of their lives wouldn’t cross his mind, and yet, were they in Baalphoria, such things would be required of him. Worse, if he didn’t kill their attacker and also couldn’t stop them from killing someone in their group? Then, he would still be considered responsible. Most of the time, of course, this specific, terrible law would never be used because it wasn’t meant to actually put the responsibility onto him—wasn’t meant to be something any low- or non-dev thought of.

It was a punishment, being used on a scared little girl, and it was just so unfair.

“You’re so sad…” Porsq noted popping up beside Olivier as they finally reached the building’s exit, Cheska pausing there to reach out her abilities to feel for people outside.

“Yes,” Olivier agreed, tugging the boy in for a hug. Immediately, the child melted into him.

There was no awkward inability, born of inexperience or being a preteen boy, to express physical affection with him… and inadvertently Xavier, still in Olivier’s arms. Instead, all there was in the too small preteen boy was touch deprivation. Izurial joined their hug at some point, likely finding some comfort and power in being able to choose this touch for himself. The next thing Olivier knew, everyone was there, save the woman who had caused Xavier’s mother’s death. She lingered, as always, on the peripheries; yet, when Olivier whispered the question of whether she could join to the little boy, he nodded. Then, Cravena was holding open an arm in invitation to her. It took a moment—and Olivier would later learn from Porsq that so much guilt had vibrated through her in this moment that his stomach had flipped over—but eventually, she joined their brief hug.

“We’re part way there,” Cheska cheered as they broke apart, “time to get the rest of the way.”

“I’m almost positive the Baalphorian embassy is halfway across the city,” Izurial unhelpfully offered.

“Well then, we’re already halfway there!” Cheska added to her cheer, taking one more moment to check for anyone lingering outside, called by the alarm—Porsq also letting his eyes fall closed to see if he could feel anything—before pushing Renton through the door and on to the street.

Half a city to get through and who knew how many people headed their way, intent to find anyone who had escaped Fräthk’s torture. If the first part of their journey had been easy, Olivier thought this part would, in no way, be so simple and free of blood.