The exhausted duo jumped between the stone apartment complexes.
One brave Storm Warden did attempt to climb up after them.
However, Valeria sent him tumbling back down the alley, instilling fear into the rest of the herd.
While the pack of heavily armored guards attempted to give chase from the streets, they lacked the maneuverability the two fugitives had on the roofs. Not to mention visibility.
The sole reason the two lived was that no Stalwart led the rushed ensemble of Storm Wardens.
Jett and Valeria lay flat on a random lower-city rooftop, laughing together in disbelief.
They had lost the Wardens and had completed their mission.
"How's that for getting your feet wet?" Valeria raspily laughed with a smile.
Jett chuckled with a cough resulting in a terrible pain in his shoulder.
"Shit," Jett gave one final laugh before applying pressure to his wound, which began to bleed once more.
Both continued to lay on the rooftop, soaking in their victory.
But the backlash didn't Jett until now.
Pain. Paralysis. A cold liquid streamed down his arm.
He was extremely lethargic after using all of his expendable Soul—and more—to overcome his injured arm.
"Valeria?" Jett queried anxiously.
"Hmm?"
"Uh, I can't move."
A perplexed look spread across Valeria's face.
"I can't move either. What's the issue?" she said in confusion.
…
"I don't get how you don't see this as a serious issue." Jett said, also in confusion.
"It isn't."
"Are you serious?"
"Of course not," Valeria admitted. "Fuckin' moron."
"How was I supposed to know you were messing with me?"
"Chalk it up to my exceptional acting skills," Valeria waved her hand to end the debacle. "We're fine where we are. It's not like we have much choice. We rest until nightfall, then we go to the safe house, then Mattias will smuggle us in by morning."
"And what about my shoulder? It's still bleeding…"
"I mean, I could cauterize the wound again if you—"
"No! No. What I really need is a—"
Valeria loosely tossed a bandage roll over to Jett, who picked it up as it rolled across the stone roof.
"…How long were you going to hold onto this?" Jett said, a hint of anger in his voice.
"Till you complained. See where complaining gets you?"
He clicked his tongue in annoyance."Comedian on top of being an actor…"
Jett fiddled with the bandage, trying to wrap it around his injured shoulder.
He quickly realized his efforts were entirely in vain.
Jett could barely keep the bandage flat and tight.
Most importantly of all, he still had all of his armor on.
'Why the hell am I trying to put a bandage on over armor?"
For the next five minutes, Jett weakly removed his cloak, leather armor, and shirt.
All Valeria did was stare condescendingly.
Then for another few minutes, Jett crudely wrapped the bandage around his shoulder.
"Gods, you are fucking pitiful," Valeria exclaimed, standing up and walking over to Jett before crouching down, snatching the bandage out of his hands, and unwrapping his terrible handiwork.
"You can walk?" Jett exclaimed.
"Of course I can walk. Now quiet, you piss me off with your incompetence."
'What?'
Jett was already running on fumes, but this whole conversation hurt his head to no end.
Valeria properly wrapped the bandage around his chest and shoulder; not too tight as to cut off circulation, but snug enough for it to stay in place.
"Now rest."
The aggressive, albeit helpful, woman took a few steps away from Jett before lying back down in her chosen spot on the roof.
Jett fiddled with his shirt, eventually putting it back on despite the difficulties.
The wounded duo stared into the clouded sky, waiting patiently for nightfall as they recuperated what Soul they could through rest.
***
Night came early.
A couple of hours of rest was interrupted by a loud hum.
Dark grey wind completely blotted out the setting sun.
The massive barrier that protected all of Strata hummed as it defended the inner city from the Soul Storm.
'All those nights cooped up in the Shacks like a scared lamb…'
Now Jett sat in the safety of the barrier in full. It made him feel a mixture of pride and sorrow, joy and pity.
He had come a long way in such a short amount of time.
Valeria's shadowy figure stood up with a stretch.
If not for the extremely dim white glow of the barrier, he wouldn't be able to see her at all.
The main roads of the Lower City only had a few light posts lining them, everything else was pitch black.
The streets were devoid, only hosting the occasional Storm Warden patrol.
They carried lanterns to light up their paths through the lightless roads.
Due to the dangerous nature of the Soul Storm, along with the darkness that was perfect for fostering crime, the Middle and Lower cities went into a strict curfew.
Valeria scouted for a way down from the rooftop as Jett put on his bloody leather armor.
The building they were on was a rectangular, high-density, residential apartment building.
Every room was the same. The barred metal windows formed a nice column of descent for the two assassins, though it took extra time for Jett to climb down due to his arm.
From there, everything went exactly according to Valeria's earlier plan.
The pair navigated through the lower city, the darkness shrouding their steps—Jett tended to lag behind.
They avoided several Storm Warden patrols, which was simple and easy, though a bit time-consuming.
After an hour of trekking through dark streets and alleys, the two eventually found the safehouse owned by the Storm Wardens.
It was a normal Lower City smooth stone house.
However, this one was filled with supplies while also devoid of the typical commonalities of a household.
Food, medical, weapons, and even various outfits and disguises.
Valeria patched her own minor injuries, then snacked on the stockpile of food, which Jett also partook in with glee.
Despite being safe, Jett felt entirely off-put. The food didn't fulfill him as it had in the past.
Something was wrong with him.
It was an indescribable lethargy; his body constantly yearned, though he did not know what.
Everything felt hollow and ill, yet his exterior remained normal.
Jett wrote it off as the result of his wound, and shoved the whole ordeal to the back of his mind, trying his hardest to ignore the uncomfortable sensations.
***
Resting until the crack of dawn, the two fugitives woke to the opening of the front door.
Jett and Valeria stood up, exiting their sleeping bags in the middle of the house.
A tall hooded figure entered the dim, opened doorway.
"You two look awful," the monotone voice of Mattias said. "This mission was supposed to be quiet."
"Hey, they knew we were coming. I ought to think Maros set me up," Valeria rebutted.
Mattias gave a curt chuckle. "He would kill you himself. Just admit it was your own incompetence."
'We did camp directly outside their hideout.'
Jett conceded, though kept it to himself. He knew better than to undermine Valeria.
"It doesn't matter. We got the job done, didn't even touch a hair on a single Storm Warden either."
Mattias's nose scrunched in anger.
"It does matter. An entire building in the lower city is collapsed. It's high profile now. That leaves the possibility of revealing Maros's hand. If a head looks into this, it won't be long until they discover that the Storm Wardens were involved,"
He then switched gears, shaking his head with disbelief.
"And you not touching a hair on a Storm Warden was a total lie! The one you kicked down the alley is now in medical care!"
"What's done is done," Valeria shrugged, though she understood her folly.
Mattias sighed. "What's done is done. Now load up in the crates."
With that, the trio locked up the safe house, then loaded up in two long, coffin-like crates in the wagon outside.
A crack of the reigns led to the unperturbed trudging of the Corrupted Bison and a long, claustrophobic ride later, the smuggling caravan arrived at the massive Upper City checkpoint.
With Mattias' high standing as a Storm Warden Lieutenant, his wagon was admitted without any trouble whatsoever.
That didn't absolve their predicament from danger, but the odds of being discovered were certainly low.
…
…
…
As they returned to Maros' mansion, Jett felt an unknown dread.
Despite his rest, his issues persisted.
It had to be his Soul.
Something was terribly wrong.