Disclaimer: none of this franchise is owned by me.

Author's Notes: Personal bit: I was diagnosed with anemia at the start of the summer. I never realized how much of my fatigue was not due to the daily grind of teaching until starting treatment. Such is #TeacherLife, wherein regular, epic levels of exhaustion result in actual medical issues coming as a surprise.

Relevant-to-you bit: Evidence of my increased energy is coming out in my writing! I am pleased to report that this chapter is about one-third of what I have written this summer: I'm finally satisfied with what came out here, and so am putting it up while I have the other two chapters going through a revision process.

However, I continue to make no guarantee of quick updates once the school year begins anew. Thank you for sticking through the long haul of years that is taking to write this story! I appreciate you so much.

Playlist songs for this chapter: "Footsteps" by Pop Evil and "Game of Survival" by Ruelle.

:: ::

let the shadows fall behind you

::

part 10

::

"Fine, be that way…Jay, what about you?"

"A magic lamp," he replies, flippant repetition of a phrase drilled into his bones. There's only one answer to that question in Jafar's household, even if they're not living in a run-down shop anymore. Even if Jafar's not in the room.

CJ Hook cackles and Hans II smirks and Clay rolls his eyes. Jay takes a swig of the ale they'd handed him when he stepped into the massive room and rests his shoulder more firmly against the good side of his chair. Auradon ale is weak: none of them feel any sort of buzz. And yet, the room is trashed—all overturned tables and dented walls and broken furniture. The others don't notice or care.

(If he wants to survive? He needs to stop noticing, too.)

It's as good a dig as any to leave on, though, and he drops his mostly-empty mug as he stands. It rolls under CJ's chair as Jay gestures a lazy salute at the three. "Speaking of, better get on that search again."

"You must have gone through the whole castle by now," Hans II said. The too-light tone slowed Jay's tread. "Will he be sending you out of the castle yet?"

Jay half-turns, just enough to meet icily calculating eyes. "Just might, pretty soon."

"Y'may want a partner out there with you," Clay comments idly, swirling his own drink around in his glass. "Last I heard, the shadow-guards were disappearing often enough in some neighborhoods that discipline was in order."

That's their euphemism for storming streets, harassing families in their homes, breaking storefronts and generally being a terror in the town. For the past few days, these unpredictable violent outbursts drove fear into the citizens. It's all intentional—a day ago, Maleficent thought that enough of it would get her the escapees back.

Now, she's just lashing out. More villains think their escaped prisoners are outside the city, but they don't mind heading out into the streets.

Chaos is easy. The markets and businesses are not very crowded, but people need to eat. People were also commanded to return to their jobs. They move quietly and quickly, never staying out past dark. Some stay huddled at home, which is no guarantee of safety.

Evie is under closer watch: her mother keeps pulling her aside for magic training after dinner. Jafar just wants a lamp, so Jay gets more freedom and goes out. On the rooftops at night, Jay avoids notice and watches where the villains' path goes.

He tries to warn neighborhoods when he can, in ways that can't trace back to him—his usual trick being to toss stones at a door or window when he sees the enforcers heading towards a street. This usually gets the bravest ones to open their doors, hear the destruction coming closer, and start warning their neighbors. A rare twice, he shouted a warning down a street, trying not to sound like himself as he does it. But that's more dangerous.

(It doesn't seem like enough.)

Their peers don't know about this, however. All they know is that Jay and Evie haven't joined them on these escapades—and neither is sure how long that can be avoided. Clay's the first to bring it up.

Jay takes the opening. "I wasn't planning to go alone. Evie hasn't been out yet, either. Just might have to dish out some of that discipline, ourselves."

Hans II sneers, "A lady doesn't need to sully her hands with it. You'd do well to treat her better, Jay."

Ah, the pretentious dethroned kept their egos. Jay ignores the assumption, choosing instead to subtly flex his arms and reply, "Evie does what she wants—as you well know."

Hans II's failed attempts at getting her attention were brief, but no secret to Evie's gang. And only to her gang, it seems: CJ falls out of her chair laughing, and Clay starts ribbing Hans II, who is conversely pale and glowering.

Blow to the prince's ego delivered, Jay saunters out of the room before any of them can pry further.

Conversations with their peers are a minefield. While he and Evie ganged up, these lone-wolf types never joined the alliances. They just brought down chaos the few times they had leverage. Being outsiders didn't prevent them from plucking alliance threads to gain an advantage.

CJ Hook, Mad Maddy, the Gaston twins, Shun Yu, Clay, Hans II… Sometimes they'd partner up on the Isle. Often, they'd wreak havoc on their own or under the direction of their parents. (The chosen few found satisfactory… Pure evil.)

Being traitor to the villain cause is easier—or perhaps, luckier—due to those differences, though. They would have known that a fight in the dungeons between a traitorous Carlos and a loyal Jay should have ended in a draw, not Carlos knocking Jay out and taking off with the prisoners. They'd have noticed that Evie couldn't have been in the corridor where Jay claimed he found her later. They'd have realized that Jay lied about which direction the escapees went after they passed through the guard room. They would have been suspicious of how long it took Evie to recover.

Memories of council meetings and temporary truces would have undermined Jay's lies and Evie's distractions. Their peers might even have guessed that Evie, "unconscious" in the chaos, had activated a scry-blocking spell on their escaping friends.

The deceptions worked because no one knows them well enough.

(He knows Evie well enough, though.)

Jay shakes off both weak ale and uncomfortable thoughts. The corridor might look empty, but nowhere in Auradon is truly safe. At least he's used to that—the Isle never was, either.

He rounds a corner and sees the cleaning staff.

Every time, he hides his own reaction to the rictus of fear that paralyzes each face that notices him. The handful of servants in the castle are already used to their newest ruler's whims. Doing the work no villain wants to do earns them nothing, but refusing to work would have earned punishment. Scrubbing floors and fixing rooms tossed about in a villain's temper tantrum places these people in the line of fire for being treated like the furniture, too.

He hasn't run into any of these small, terrified crews while with others. Yet.

Hands scrub and bodies shiver as he passes, attempting neither to linger nor to rush. He intentionally steps where someone has clearly just finished cleaning, going out of his way to do so. The boy his age, with unkempt brown hair, glares up at him, nothing but contempt in slate-gray eyes. Jay pretends that his smirk isn't brittle at the edges.

(Anyone might be watching.)

His back remains stiff as he turns two more corners and climbs a flight of stairs. Windows pass: some with stained glass, many with clear panes, others with shards clinging to frames. No more cleaning crews, though. He breathes a little more easily.

Jay slips into Evie's room. As expected, she's alone. He collapses into a puffy chair as she continues dabbing at her cheek with a brush. Her eyes catch his in the mirror for a long moment before she returns her full attention to her task. That tiny pinch between her eyebrows smooths away, as though it was never there at all. Like every other time, he bites down on his own tongue and a pinch of pain keeps his jaw closed against the words he wants to say.

(He knows her well enough to know when she worries.)

A pause slightly longer on his part, and—there. She smiles at herself in the mirror. "I thought you'd be busy longer."

"I thought we were meeting downstairs," he shoots back. "And yet, here you are, on your second re-do today. Are you ever going to be satisfied?"

"Perfection takes work." She sits back in her chair, tilting her chin at ten different angles. "And it's not a re-do. It's called re-application, and it is necessary. Surely you don't mind waiting for a lady to look her best?"

"I'd prefer this lady not make us late to lunch. We still have to hit the streets after we eat," he says, crossing his arms and slumping in a manner that should appear appropriately sulky. A brief silence grows: there's a reason he came, and it'll have to be in code since she has not wanted to risk her privacy bubble spell for days. His smirk, a second-nature mask, easily rolls along his lips despite his posture. "Jafar wants me to look in a few more shops. He'll never be satisfied without that royal treasure. How many do you think we can squeeze in?"

Her eyes narrow in the mirror. "At least one. Would he be satisfied with that?"

Executions start the day after tomorrow, and she still only has one idea. "I'm not sure how he'd feel about your plan."

"Well," she says, flashing a bright, showy smile over her shoulder. "It's the only one we've got!"

True. He hadn't come up with a better one, yet. Not for lack of trying—at least, not on his part.

Jay arches an eyebrow even as he pretends to watch the curtains float in the breeze from her open window. From the corner of one eye, Jay watches Evie's hand swishing a makeup brush on a cleaning mat, back and forth, back and forth…

(He knows her well enough to know when she lies.)

Choices. He could keep his knowledge to himself, undermine her glorious little scheme later and… somehow… But that's where he gets stuck, because he can't think of a better way to get the Auradon royals out of their cell.

So, really, his only choice is to grit his teeth and comment, "Well, at least it'll be safe enough, wandering the streets."

"Oh?" she hums, distracted with a tube of lipstick.

"Yeah. After all, the others are all distracted by shiny things or throwing their weight around in town. And our parents aren't freaking out, at least now that there's no chance of the rest of the prisoners escaping."

This slows her hand. She lifts the color from her lips, pursing them. Slowly, questioningly, she says, "Mother's certainly pleased about it."

Her eyes are piercing through the mirror. Jay's customary smirk stings his lips as he pointedly replies, "I'll say. It's great that she found that spell, isn't it? Makes the job real easy, knowing they can't get out without help. Just like it says in her book."

(Evie gave up the secret of her mother's favorite hiding places long ago, on the Isle. Old habits repeat in Auradon.)

Slowly, she turns from the mirror—but she can't meet his eyes directly. Looking at an ear is a trick he taught her, and she should have remembered it. "…Mother's book?"

Flippantly, he shrugs, rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. "I can read."

(Also, the others forget: Jafar was, briefly, a djinn. He knows a few things about magic, too.)

Jay can feel the pressure of her eyes, demanding, searching, anxious. "What did you read?" she asks, voice silky smooth. Mal taught her that one.

"Oh, you know." He re-crosses his arms, adjusting the fold, and looks at her too quickly for Evie to prevent their eyes meeting. Neither glares—neither can afford to look displeased, if someone is watching—but just as he knows her, she also knows how to read his every shift in mood under the surface. "So, there's no reason to be worried. Not like anyone will get a chance to do any sacrificing 'round here."

"Jay…"

He claps his hands to distract from the waver in her voice and stands. "Might as well get going! That lamp going to find itself—"

"Before we go shopping for decorative housewares," she interjects, steel in her tone and pleading in her eyes, "do you mind if we take a side trip? I've been meaning to find a suitable horse."

It's not exactly a code, just the contingency Carlos planned. If possible, if needed, the hiding place for messages is in the stables. Jay's been out there at the end of his rooftop jaunts each night. But Evie's not asking because she hopes to hear from the other half of their gang.

Healthy horses need freedom to run, and they simply can't inside the city. Given the sprawl of neighborhoods and shops forming the heart of Auradon City, the stables in the castle are transitional spaces, not living ones. The stallions and mares actually live near the city wall, and no villain wants to go that far from luxuries and gold.

Clearly, Evie wants go somewhere with fewer prying eyes and hash this out in shouts muffled by bubble-spell protection. (And there would be shouting. Lots of it.)

For all that Jay wanted to yell when he'd figured out her plan, right now he just feels…weary. He shakes his head at her earnest plea. "What makes a horse suitable?"

"Someone of my station needs a mare of particular quality."

"Sounds like a trip I'm not interested in," he emphasizes with a firm shake of his head.

The lines around Evie's eyes morph from pleading to a far more characteristic stubbornness. "I'd rather you joined me."

Sneering, he exaggerates the courtly air of, "I'd rather not."

She flips her hair over one shoulder, striding past him towards the door. "If you want help finding that lamp, you'd best come along! And perhaps, once we're there, you'll find you're not as against horses as you think."

(She cannot be serious.)

He plants his feet and snarls, "I will not change my mind."

"Jay." She turns her head, looking over her shoulder, and all the tension of her expression reminds him that they might have an audience—one that has no reason to be suspicious. Yet. The longer he resists, though… "Come with me."

"Fine." He sighs heavily, acting out frustration that seeps away just as quick as it apparently came. Relief flits across her brow and her shoulders roll back.

At the door, he reaches over her head to hold it open and leans in, just enough to emphasize his height and size. Low volume and low tone, he tells her, "This conversation is over."

"When I say it is," she purrs, striding into the corridor.

:: :: ::

"So, what's first? Supplies or contacting Jay and Evie?" Quinn asks Carlos, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. The morning light filters through brush covering their tunnel exit. Hugh and Phil lean in, nearly-identical mirrors of each other, their paired eyes seeming to shift color in the sunlight.

The damp, dark path had seemed endless on the way here. Knowing an ocean rolled above set them on a relentless pace, carrying dimly glowing candles and keeping strangely quiet. Early on, it seemed to all of them that no amount of talking could fill the gapingly empty space. At times, it felt like the earth itself was swallowing them whole.

Here, sun shining just beyond the boundary of shadow, the air is deceptively calm. Just beyond those city walls is a viper's nest—and he doesn't know how bad it may have become in the time since they escaped.

On the Isle, he looked at his volunteers and knew he'd need the best muscle…. just in case. Lonnie was the best fighter, and though she wasn't happy to do it, she did stay when he asked her to take charge of training the others with Megan and Mervin. That left him the showier types. One look and anyone hoping to stop them will know they have a fight on their hands.

Carlos certainly hopes to avoid potential fights, though. "I told them where to go for messages, in case we had a chance like this, but I don't know how often they check."

"That's our best shot at reaching them," Hugh says. "Leave a message, start scouting for supplies?"

"Knowing what's changed before going into the city would be better." Carlos sighs. "Finding supplies might be difficult either way. But no matter what, we can't stick around past sunset." The longer they're in Auradon, the more likely that they'll be caught.

"Would it be easiest for you to go to the meeting point first, alone, Carlos?" Quinn asks nonchalantly, not making a spectacle of trust. Neither do the other two.

(Weird: the trust is starting to feel normal.)

He glances between these twins of a demigod father Hercules and this son of the captain of the guard Phoebus. None of the three are actually royalty—an advantage to their mission, clearly, as they've all just offered, without complaint, to stay hidden in an odd-smelling tunnel for several hours.

"Partnering up is better. We'll need speed and silence, though. Who's the quietest?" They hesitate, and he suppresses a smile. Then he remembers who he's with, and lets it rise up. "Okay. Walk back," he points with his thumb over his shoulder, "about ten yards. Then come back here, one at a time."

They obey. Ten minutes later, Phil and Carlos take off for the city.

Circling the walls, they come across two potential alternate access points: a drainage pipe, large enough to walk in although it smells foul, and a medium-sized community garden with a small wooden door presumably leading back into the city. Carlos catalogues them for their future plans. There's no telling what's on the other side of the garden door—huddled crowds, guards, or an empty street—and the tellingly-scented sewers might not lead them to where they want to go. But they are options.

At last, they reach the wide gate of the stables. This is the furthest from their tunnel entrance, and dangerously close to the well-guarded main gates. Yet, this entrance made the most potential sense for a meeting or message. Few villains go there, it appears guarded well enough by being close to the front entrance, and there are many shady trees and bushes right up close to the gate.

"The garden might have something ready for picking," Phil murmurs as they hunch and consider the stables from behind foliage. "And there were no watchtowers over it. We should have Hugh and Quinn check while we go in."

"Go tell them," Carlos replies, settling in. "I'll watch here until you get back."

The long minutes he spends watching and waiting are quiet. No one moves around the stables, and he feels confident in the cover he hides in. Will Jay and Evie be out here today? Have they been able to come out earlier? If not yesterday or today, would they get a message tomorrow? After?

The castle must be fiercely guarded after their escape. In a pinch, he might risk sneaking in. But the stables are in their plan. They'll come.

Unless they've been forbidden from leaving the castle.

Nagging worry rises, but he can't let that make him rash. He'll wait as long as he can, right up until sundown if he must. And if Jay or Evie don't show up, he'll lead Phil back to the tunnel and regroup with the others. Talk them into coming back tomorrow.

He can't shake a lingering dread, though. Since their escape, so many small things have fallen into place in their favor. Surely, their luck cannot continue to hold. It seems that something has to go wrong eventually.

:: :: ::

The path is familiar, though the daylight is not. Neither is the tension holding Evie's shoulders tight.

How she thought to keep any secret from Jay is a mystery. Evie's never been the most secretive—that award goes to Carlos—and she's certainly not the most skilled at hiding her emotions—unlike Mal, who manages to hide them even from herself—but then, she's never tried to hide anything from him. Not that anyone outside their gang would have noticed: maybe she is skilled enough to hide from anyone else. Just not them.

The streets are mostly empty, and anyone they come across quickly ducks their head, shrinks in on themselves, and freezes like a rabbit under the eyes of a pair of foxes. Good thing they don't have to put on any particular performance right now: before leaving the castle, Maleficent had been screeching her displeasure at a ragtag assemblage of other villains. By now, a knock-down drag-out fight is underway.

All that Isle warfare, villain turning on villain, continues to play out here. And now, the bodies are staying down. The smartest and cruelest survive.

Would they kill themselves off if given enough time? If there were fewer, would it be easier to take on the worst-of-the-evil survivors? That'd be one way to deal with the villain problem…

He hopes someone out there has a plan, actually. All he and Evie are doing is surviving. Well. They are, even if he has to drag Evie along, kicking and screaming the whole way.

As though she can hear his thoughts, Evie's eyes dart to the side and he rolls his away before they can make contact. He's not exactly punishing her, but—that's maybe one way to think of it. Let her see his anger. Maybe that'd stop her.

(He's also just sad. And not allowed to show it.)

Evie doesn't try to say anything while they are on the move, though. Not until they've made it into the stables, and checked that the stalls are clear. Only then does she mumble the familiar charm to cast a protective bubble around their speech.

Instantly, he snaps, "I don't want to hear it."

"You need to."

"You don't get to do that," he says, turning his back on her. He forces his hands not to ball into fists.

She moves closer anyway. "What, make my own decisions?"

"No."

"Then what?"

All is breathlessly quiet, except for the shuffling hooves of the inhabitants. Jay slips into one empty stall, Evie following gracefully, for more privacy from anyone who might come by, despite the relative quiet. Can't be too careful.

There, he turns on his heel and glares down at her. "You're ours, Evie. You don't get to just leave us, permanently, just for—"

"Auradon's best chance rests with their leaders," she cuts in, reaching out toward him. He tries not to flinch from her cool hands as they curl around his arms, but she sees, anyway. Her brows pinch with hurt. "We can't wait until the executions—"

"They'd have a chance to escape." He consciously relaxes his arms as she continues to hold on. "We can cause a distraction, we can help—"

"It is far riskier to wait—"

A soft clinking draws their attention instantly. Hanging on a post are a set of reins, swaying softly without a breeze, and the only thing out of place is—

Jay breaks away swiftly, bending low and snatching up the glinting lump of metal. It is silver and slightly rusty, and it looks like a part from some machine, metal that covers up wires and encases the insides of a device. It does not belong in a stable, and more importantly, wasn't there on the ground moments ago. The angle, though…

He doesn't look up. "Evie, extend the bubble."

She does so breathlessly, eyes alight and lips twitching from relief to fear and back. "Carlos."

"Don't look up," comes the wry voice from above.

"How did you…" Evie's voice trails off and she clears her throat. "When did you get here?"

"It's been about two hours, I think," he says. "This isn't the most comfortable spot, but we waited outside the walls for over an hour before coming in. We knew it'd be a long wait."

"We?" Jay asks, eyes drifting around the stables to reconfirm that no one else is on the ground.

"Hi." The voice is unfamiliar, but drifts down from above just the same. "It's Phil."

Phil from tourney. Jay wouldn't undermine Carlos' choice of muscle, but he still wishes it were Mal.

A brief silence is given no room to grow, even with Evie's eyes attempting to catch his, pleading. Carlos hasn't asked what they were arguing about—he knows them too well not to have noticed—but when he gets a chance, he will.

Jay doesn't respond to her pleas. "What do you need, Carlos?"

(He doesn't know what he'll say when the time comes.)

The varied needs of the escapees that Carlos lists off come as no shock: food, clothing, medical supplies. Though, Carlos doesn't clarify exactly who is injured.

Jay admits to himself that at least his rooftop jaunts were good for something besides theoretical surveillance on the off chance of escape. Mostly, it had turned into him just blowing off steam. "I've been watching people," he tells Carlos, Phil and Evie. "Some who work in the castle, some who live in the neighborhoods that have been targeted."

Resistance only makes sense: there's a reason shadow-guards have been destroyed. That brown-haired servant who glared comes to mind.

"Perfect." A shift above, creaking wood, as Carlos shifts for what must have been the first time in hours. "You think they might have weapons, too?"

"I'll take you to them," Jay says, tracing out the routes in his own mind. "People will be returning home in the next few hours. No one wants to risk being out at sundown."

"That's pushing it close," Evie says, patting a horse on the nose. She's made her way out of the stall, putting on the appearance of looking horses. The speech bubble doesn't block scrying sight, after all.

Jay shrugs. "But if I'm right, these people will give us a lot of help."

Evie rolls her eyes. Jay's sure that Carlos has done the same above. They both know he'd never have mentioned other people if he wasn't mostly-certain they'd get what they needed.

He just hasn't mentioned that if the people he's thought of won't volunteer…he's willing to take what they need by force.

(They might know that, too.)

(It's not like—)

(They have to survive. They have to.)

"We'll take the long way back," Evie says, one final brush of horse hair from horse forehead. "Then Jay can double back—to the rooftop of that quaint little market, by the fountain of roses?" Jay nods. "I'll put a scry-blocker on you."

"And then get some rest," Carlos commands. Jay hums his agreement: she's getting stronger, but the magic still takes a lot.

"But I'll be with you," she argues, and that can't stand.

"No, you won't." She frowns and Jay adds, "Someone has to cover for us in the castle. And you can't do the spell while moving, so you need to be somewhere no one will accidentally find you."

That, she has to concede, and carefully wipes the traces of worry from her expression.

Of course. Opportunity and means: Carlos will ask about their disagreement, and Jay will have to answer. He has no idea what he'll say.

Evie diverts the conversation. "What's your plan after you've resupplied?"

Carlos and Phil have heard some news about Auradon's current status, but Jay and Evie have both avoided talking about the executions or asking too much about the escapees. It's not going to remain a secret, but at a glance, they'd agreed some information should wait until later. After they have their supplies.

No use worrying for longer or being tempted to try an ill-advised breakout. The escapees only have survival on their minds right now.

"Get this." Carlos sounds like he's grinning. "We're going to take back Auradon."

Or…not.

"Just you?" Jay asks, incredulous. Damnit, what is Mal thinking—

"We joined up with the alliances. All the other kids left for dead on the Isle are joining us."

(What.)

"Also, Yen Sid's working for Ben—"

(What.)

"—so we're getting the supplies back to everyone through these tunnels that connect Auradon to the Isle."

"You're on the Isle?" Evie says, her voice faint. As if that's the most surprising thing Carlos has just said. As if he hasn't just made it possible for them not to go through with Evie's insane plan.

Carlos just laughs, the bastard.

:: :: ::

"This running on rooftops thing," Hugh pants. "Do you think that's a—an Isle thing? Or a Carlos thing?"

"A Carlos one," Phil huffs over his shoulder. "Haven't you noticed? He's always going for the high ground."

Just ahead, Carlos makes no indication that he heard either of them.

Quinn shakes his head, jumping across the gap between two rooftops. He prefers solid ground too, but he also grew up on stories from—and about—his godfather. The bell-ringer in whose honor he's named taught him an appreciation for the more obscure ways to travel in a city. Ways people who don't want to, or can't, be seen, choose to make their way differently.

Maybe it's not just a Carlos thing. They only see Mal when she wants to be seen, and haven't seen Evie out and about, but Jay's profile up ahead makes him second-guess the assumption that only the smallest member of that quartet makes use of the higher paths.

They come to a halt on a slightly-angled roof overlooking the fountain of roses—a little place the King built in honor of the Queen. A lot of the roses have been torn up and the murky water can't have been running for at least a week. But it's there and Quinn lets himself remember wandering past it once or twice whenever he'd been out shopping in the city for odds and ends.

A lone residential street lies ahead, nestled behind one row of stores. The fountain square and surrounding streets are almost empty. A handful of stragglers hurry on, heads down and shoulders tense. Sunset creeps slowly into being, the light beginning to dim.

"The green house," Jay says, voice soft enough to carry to them on the wind, but not loud enough to fall to the streets below. "A servant who works in the castle lives there. And at least ten guards have gone missing in this area."

"Why that servant?" Carlos asks.

Jay's shoulders shift, just slightly, but he replies with a steady voice. "Because he doesn't look down. He's not cowed and afraid."

Quinn frowns. What was his teammate doing when a citizen of Auradon showed no fear? Was it to his face, in response to something he did? Or was Jay present when someone else was threatening this servant?

What were Jay and Evie up to here in Auradon, anyway? Phil mentioned they had a disagreement in the stables, but they weren't exactly able to talk about it after Carlos shut down the conversation.

"We'll know when they tell us," he'd said, and that was that.

He'd also tossed scarves at each of them, to help conceal their faces and Carlos' distinctive hair. Told them they'd push into the sunset, using it as cover for their activities, and be out before darkness truly covered the city.

Quinn's questions are the uncomfortable sort that, in any other circumstance, would have clear answers. He doesn't like the possibilities that could be in this situation. But, as they hunch on the roof in silence, he can't help but remember. Mal and her mother… Jay and Evie helped the escape, but they stayed behind. Their parents probably want just what Maleficent did: obedience and evil.

These villains. It's a game of survival.

"Come on," Carlos says, sudden and sharp. Quinn follows at the end, Jay and Carlos taking the lead. They split up and Carlos gestures for Hugh and Phil to follow him. Quinn's about to go when Jay catches his elbow and pulls him closer.

"Not sure how they'll react to me alone," he murmurs, tugging Quinn's scarf further over his head to cast deeper shadows about his face. "If it looks like knowing who you are will help, then talk—otherwise, leave it to me."

Then they're rounding the corner. A brown-haired man is just opening the door to a green-painted house, and—

Like a coiled snake, Jay springs forward, rolls low—

Slips a foot into the closing door in time to catch it open.

Then, striking, heavy and unexpected, he forces the door back—

Quinn leaps to follow, a heartbeat behind in surprise. He's nowhere near as controlled in movement, a demented ballerina instead of a purposeful warrior, but all the same, he helps keep the door open as Jay enters the house.

The young man they'd seen opening the door snarls. His gray eyes are sharp and entirely focused on Jay, whose stance comes across as more threatening than reassuring.

"—want clean floors, you'd better—"

"Son!" An older man pushes his way in between them, nudging the younger back towards a staircase—stairs against which an older woman and a teenage girl are hunched. The father of the house is also entirely focused on Jay. "Please, leave my boy be—"

Quinn closes the door behind him and opens his mouth, cheeks warm with frustration with Jay's thoughtlessness.

The person at the focus of these high emotions says, "You'll want to open the back door."

As though waiting for their cue, three sharp raps are heard. The second door is in another room, through an arch in which Quinn sees the kitchen.

The small family only looks more terrified.

(Damnit. Isle kids and their unforeseen levels of stupid.)

Quinn realizes, suddenly, that the woman whose face he initially glossed over is familiar. A second longer to place her through the fear and anger lining her face, and then, he remembers.

"Jay," he inserts himself into the tableau, nudging his hood back from his face just enough for the light to fall on his skin. "Honestly. Not the best plan, here."

To his displeasure, Jay's lips only twitch in a half smirk. "That's why you're along for the ride. You know them."

His steadily-growing ire is disrupted by the sound of a small shopkeeper's gasp of surprise. "Master Quinn!" the mother of the house exclaims, one hand coming to her own face. Her eyes are confused and distraught lines etch themselves deeper. "What are you…Why are you…?"

He shakes his head, already understanding. "I'm so sorry for scaring you like this—we just couldn't be sure that someone wasn't watching, outside your house. Please, I'll explain, but first—our companions. My companions," he emphasizes, taking a step forward. "At the back door. It's not safe for us out there."

She rallies herself quickly, unlike her husband, who simply blinks in astonishment at her swiftly regained composure. "Oh, Master Quinn, we were so worried," she says, moving away from the stairs to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with her husband. "They're demanding all the escaped prisoners be returned, or else—"

Jay cuts her off. "Ma'am. The door." A second, softer knock is heard.

She shakes herself off and goes to open it. The oldest man has started to grasp this sudden change, and squints at Quinn. "Quinn… the Captain's son, Quinn?"

For once, recognition brings only relief. "And the Romani's," he adds, never content with his mother being forgotten from a conversation.

The man looks between him and Jay in confusion, one hand gesturing wordlessly.

Quinn takes the opportunity to clear the air, placing one hand on Jay's shoulder. "Jay helped us escape. He's been our ears and eyes inside the kingdom. But it's dangerous for him, and we knew that coming here might place you at risk—I swear, we've done what we can to keep suspicion off you."

"Making it seem like the usual chaos villains get up to was our best idea," Carlos says, following the shopkeeper into the room. Her expression is much calmer, though lines of weariness haven't faded at all.

"You've come to the right place if you're seeking help," she says, arching an eyebrow. "But how did you know to come to us?"

Hugh grins. "Our eyes and ears," he says, gesturing to Jay.

Jay, who hasn't relaxed his stance in the least, Quinn realizes. He's not expecting his teammate to be so stoic, and now that things have been smoothed over he's not as angry about the nearly-botched contact. But what's got Jay so stony and silent?

For that matter, Carlos is uncharacteristically open—eyes bright, shoulders back, expression calm. Is this one of their plans?

Phil says, "We're in need of supplies. A lot of them. And, if you know of anyone else who might be interested…a fight's coming this way, soon. We found someallies, and Ki—Prince Ben is leading the charge."

The young man steps forward, eyes determined. "We can certainly help with that—I'm in contact with many people who worked in the castle. You've got fighters already here, waiting for an opportunity."

"Palace guards?" Carlos asks.

"And visiting bodyguards, security details, other warriors who weren't caught in the hero sweep in the Great Hall. They're hiding around, just staying a few disguises and steps ahead of these damnable raids. Seems the villains didn't think anyone else was important enough to notice." The young man shrugs.

"That's what they do," Jay says. He sounds grimly pleased. "They're arrogant."

"And it'll be our advantage," the other says, eying Jay. Whatever powered his previous anger has been mitigated, for now.

Jay nods, but says no more. He stays by the door, a sentinel, as the rest of the family leaps into action. The father and daughter help Hugh and Phil, who respectively take charge of food and clothing. Carlos collects information from the younger man to bring back to Ben. Quinn goes with the shopkeeper to stock up on medical supplies.

"What kind of injuries?" she asks briskly. He's always been the "medicine guy" of the tourney team. Her shop's mostly herbal remedies for illnesses, athletic injuries, and other health needs, and she's always known a lot about the scientific side of healing.

Quinn grimaces. "All kinds. Burns, lacerations, malnourishment. Mostly, we need bandages and antiseptics, but anything for fevers, head injuries…" He remembers what a few of the girls badgered them for before they left. "Women's supplies."

Her eyes are wide and watery. "Who…Who is so injured? How?"

Oh. She doesn't know. "Not the escapees, I'm afraid. Those who…took us in." He clears his throat, hedges around telling her exactly where they are. "Many of the villain's children did not come to Auradon. Many of them were…injured. Left behind."

Her tears spill over. "Their parents left them? But—how were they injured?" Confusion, suspicion, and fear war on her face.

"Maleficent burned the Isle. And—and." He closes his eyes to tell the worst part. "Some of their parents hurt them before leaving."

His eyes open to the sounds of furious folding and crinkling wrappers and darkly muttered threats under her breath. The shopkeeper makes use of every tiny bit of space and gives him a second bursting-full pack of women's products besides, one he can sling across his body.

She takes his face between her palms when she's done and he's set up like a packhorse. Red-rimmed eyes meet his, glowing with rage. "You tell King Ben—his people will take this kingdom back right alongside him."

Pride fizzles up his spine.

They're gathered together in the main room again, loaded down with all they can carry on backs and in arms, expressing gratitude to the family, when Jay is suddenly no longer a statue in the room. He strides closer to the window—one which, Quinn realizes only now, Jay must have been watching. There's a gap in the curtains.

Jay cuts through the father's warm wishes with, "We need to go. Now."

He pushes Phil towards Hugh. Carlos is already moving, sprinting through the back door, and the family's a well-oiled machine—the two youngest racing up the stairs, the father bracing himself against the door, the shopkeeper seizing a frying pan. But Quinn's movements are sluggish and he's only reached the back door when—

Pounding on the front door.

Jay hissing, "Go!"

Shoving Hugh through the back door first.

The shopkeeper saying, "We'll cover you, hurry—"

Splintering wood.

A woman's shriek of rage.

He sees, under Jay's arm: the older man's legs on the floor, the shopkeeper blocking the kitchen's door with her body, and over her head, lifted swords. Then he's stumbles down the back steps and Jay tells him, "Leave."

And then Jay turns. He's back inside, slamming the door between them, and Quinn—he's got two bags slung on him and the others are already at the end of the block in this dark city, he can't—

Anger carries his legs—at Jay, at the guards, at himself. Quinn runs.

:: :: ::

Carlos sends them back into the tunnel.

They protest, but the supplies have to go back—massive backpacks, bags on each arm, boxes. All that they can carry made it difficult to escape the city a second time. But somehow, they made it through the streets, past the stables, through the uncultivated fields. They made it back to the tunnel. Early evening is so quiet it's a miracle they weren't heard.

Unless they were—in which case, this was a one-shop stop and they'll find that out later.

But he can't leave, not yet. A regrouping was scheduled and he has to keep it—has to know what happened, has to get Jay to tell him that news he'd said Carlos would hear after they were done. So he sends the other three back into the dark earth, stacked his own load of supplies inside the entrance to the tunnel, and returned to the stables.

Carlos curls up in his spot on the rafters and breathes. Jay will be here. Or Evie. One or both. They'll be here.

He tries to think of nothing.

Crickets are chirping by the time he hears a soft stride outside. His back straightens and he breathes shallowly until Jay's familiar frame stands inside the stables.

He tosses the outer casing of his taser again. Jay sighs and picks it up, just like he did earlier that day, and leans on the post just below Carlos' perch.

Carlos breathes. And waits.

"The shopkeeper's husband… he didn't make it. He tried to stop them breaking in."

"How many guards?"

"There were three."

Were.

"Shadows?"

A hum of agreement, then nothing. Three less guards, now.

(Vindictively: he's glad.)

They've never taken a loss before, and it is unsettling, especially when everything else went just as usual. Jay's always been the muscle: there to back the three of them whenever they needed, always on the watch for attack. Carlos is their negotiator, especially without threats coming into it, because by the time he's the one called forward, the other party knows not to try anything.

He knew he'd succeeded when he had a full pack on his back. Jay probably doesn't have that sense of success: he failed to defend that old man.

Carlos can't do anything about the old man, or put the world back together again single-handedly, but he can get Jay to unload one of his other burdens. He shifts his shoulders against the rough wooden support. "How's Evie?"

A huff of air, unhappiness made sound, puffs out, but Jay holds his thoughts a little longer.

The need for thought makes Carlos uneasy.

"What's the timetable on that attack?" comes the slow, measured question.

He lets himself frown, unseen. "No timetable, yet. We're trying to figure out when the best time would be. They certainly don't want to wait, though."

"It has to happen the day after tomorrow."

His eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise. "That's…a bit soon. I mean, just logistically—"

"Carlos." Jay's tone is heavier than he's ever heard. "Maleficent's planning to execute the royals."

His stomach abruptly twists in knots as Jay continues, outlining the declarations she'd made, the reasons for guards in the neighborhood at all, the timeline that they'd under. All of it.

(Something had to go wrong eventually.)

"Is there—have you two been trying to come up with a way to break them out?" he asks, tongue heavy. Surely Jay would have led with that, but he has to ask. (To hope.)

"Grimhilde added another enchantment. Evie…she thinks she can break it, but." Jay sighs heavily. "I read the spell. In the book. She…" He pauses for a long breath. Carlos wants to jump down there and shake it out of him. "Evie can't do it. Our only real chance is after they're let out of the dungeons. Which won't happen until the executions."

Jay's shoulders are a little too tense, eyes darting up and back down. All telling behaviors. Whatever he's hiding, Carlos has to let it go: Jay wouldn't choose to keep it to himself unless it was irrelevant.

Strategies and modifications to the fledgling idea they had come up with spin through his head. "Our attack will need to be both a distraction and a rescue," Carlos says.

"When will you know what's happening for sure?" Jay asks.

"I'll be back tomorrow. Same time," Carlos says, finally swinging down. "I need to take this back. Now." Wildcard: how will the Auradon teens take this news? He thinks it's going to get ugly.

(And bad things happen to the messenger of bad news. On the Isle.)

Jay ruffles his hair, just to be annoying. "How's Mal?"

There's a lot he could say to that, but only one word, loaded with meaning, stands out. "She's better."

Before he can skip back out to the tunnels, Jay grabs him back into an overwhelming hug. Too tight, too close, semi-public—all things that are anathema to their previous lives. But it's a little thing they've picked up on in their all-too-brief school days in Auradon, and Carlos can admit that he likes it. It's like crashing in each other's beds, total protection and familiarity. Just not in shadows and secrecy.

When he sneaks back out of the city walls to the tunnel, he's almost sad to go, almost sad to light the candle stub the others had left behind for him. The longing for his gang to be back together isn't enough to make him stay, though, and certainly not with the knowledge weighing down his every step.

The long, lonely tunnel yawns before him. He grits his teeth against the weight piled on his back and in his arms, and heads off into the darkness.