She turned to leave, but Grund finally stumbled into the room. The little urchin tucked his malformed hand into his pocket and scowled at her. That was odd. He normally seemed so happy when she arrived.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothin’,” he said. “Thought you was someone else.” He gave her a grin.

Veil fished a few pieces of flatbread from her bag. “Not much today, I’m afraid. I wanted to make sure to stop by though. The information you gave us on that book was very helpful.”

He licked his lips, holding out his hands. She tossed him the flatbread, and he took an eager bite. “What do you need next?”

“Nothing right now,” Veil said.

“Come on. There has to be something I can do to help. Something you want, right?”

Too desperate, Veil thought. What is beneath the surface here? What have I missed?

“I’ll consider,” she said. “Grund, is everything all right?”

“Right. Sure, everything is great!” He paused. “Unless it shouldn’t be?”

Pattern hummed softly on Veil’s coat. She agreed.

“I’ll stop by again in a few days. Should have a big haul then.” Veil tipped her hat to the urchin, then slipped back into the market. It was late, but people lingered. Nobody wanted to be alone on days after the Everstorm came. Some looked toward the wall, where those Fused had attacked. But that sort of thing happened almost daily, so it didn’t cause too much of a stir.

Veil drew more attention than she’d have wanted. She’d exposed herself to them, given up her face.

“Grund tells lies, doesn’t he?” Pattern whispered.

“Yeah. I’m not sure why, or what about.”

As she wove into the market, she put her hand before her face, changing it with a wave of the fingers. She took her hat off, folded it, and covertly Lightwove it to look like a waterskin. Each was a little change that nobody would notice. She tucked her hair into her coat, made it look shorter, then finally closed her coat and changed the clothing underneath. When she took off the coat and folded it up, she was no longer Veil, but a market guard she’d drawn earlier.

Rolled coat under her arm, she lingered at a corner and waited to see if anyone passed, looking for Veil. She didn’t spot anyone, though her training with Ishnah at spotting tails wasn’t yet extensive. She threaded her way back through the crowd to Grund’s shop again. She lingered near the wall, then eased toward the window, listening.

“… Told you we shouldn’t have given her the book,” a voice was saying inside.

“This is pathetic,” another said. “Pathetic! That was the best you could do?”

She heard a grunt, and a whimper. That’s Grund. Veil cursed softly, scrambling around to look in through the window. A group of thugs was chewing on the flatbread she’d brought. Grund lay in the corner, whimpering and holding his stomach.

Veil felt a flash of rage, and angerspren immediately boiled around her, pools that sprayed red and orange. She shouted at the men and dashed for the doorway. They immediately scattered, though one slammed a cudgel onto Grund’s head with a sickening crunch.

By the time she reached Grund, the men had vanished farther into the building. She heard the door in the back slam closed. Pattern appeared in her hand as a Shardblade, but Stormfather! She couldn’t give chase—not and leave the poor child here.

Veil dismissed Pattern and knelt, aghast at the bloody wound in Grund’s head. It was bad. The skull was broken, bleeding …

He blinked, dazed. “V … Veil?”

“Storms, Grund,” she whispered. “I…” What could she do? “Help? Help, somebody! There’s a wounded child in here!”

Grund whimpered, then whispered something. Veil leaned close, feeling useless.

“Hate…” Grund whispered. “Hate you.”

“It’s all right,” Veil said. “They’re gone now. They … they ran. I’ll help.” Bandage. She cut at her shirttails with her knife.

“Hate you,” Grund whispered.

“It’s me, Grund. Not those others.”

“Why couldn’t you leave me alone?” he whispered. “They killed them all. My friends. Tai…”

Veil pressed the cloth against his head wound, and he winced. Storms. “Quiet. Don’t exert yourself.”

“Hate you,” he repeated.

“I brought you food, Grund.”

“You drew them,” he hissed. “You strutted around, throwing food. You thought people wouldn’t notice?” He closed his eyes. “Had to sit all day, wait for … for you. My life was waiting for you. If I wasn’t here when you came, or if I tried to hide the food, they beat me.”

“How long?” she whispered, feeling her confidence shake.

“Since the first day, you storming woman. Hate … hate you … Others too. We all … hate you…”

She sat with him as his breathing slowed, then cut off. Finally she knelt back, bloodied cloth in her hands.

Veil could handle this. She’d seen death. It … it was life … on the street … and …

Too much. Too much for one day.

Shallan blinked tears from the corners of her eyes. Pattern hummed. “Shallan,” he said. “The boy, he spoke of the others. Others?”

Storms! She threw herself to her feet and pushed out into the night, dropping Veil’s hat and coat in her haste. She ran for Muri—the mother who had once been a seamstress. Shallan shoved through the market until she reached the packed tenement where the seamstress lived. She crossed the common room, then breathed a sigh of relief as she found Muri alive, inside her small room. The woman was hurriedly tossing clothing into a sack, her eldest daughter clutching a similar one.

She looked up, saw Shallan—who still looked like Veil—and cursed to herself. “You.” The frown lines and scowl were unfamiliar. She’d always seemed so pleasant.

“You know already?” Shallan asked. “About Grund?”

“Grund?” Muri snapped. “All I know is that the Grips are angry about something. I’m not going to take a chance.”

“The Grips?”

“How oblivious are you, woman? The gang in charge of this area has had toughs watching us all for when you next arrived. The one watching me met with another, and they had a quiet argument, then took off. I heard my name. So I’m leaving.”

“They took the food I gave you, didn’t they? Storms, they killed Grund!”

Muri stopped, then shook her head. “Poor kid. Better you than he.” She cursed, gathering her sacks and shoving her children toward the common room. “We always had to sit here, waiting for you and your storming sack of goodies.”

“I’m … I’m sorry.”

Muri left into the night with her children. Shallan watched them go, feeling numb. Empty. She quietly sank down in Muri’s deserted room, still holding the cloth with Grund’s blood.

We are uncertain the effect this will have on the parsh. At the very least, it should deny them forms of power. Melishi is confident, but Naze-daughter-Kuzodo warns of unintended side effects.