oOoOo

Everyone remembered the day the walls came down — where they were and what they were doing when the news first reached them. It was the sort of moment one's life pivoted around, the world transformed in the space of an afternoon.

Jet remembered better than most. He had never been shielded from the war, had grown up without any walls to protect him. He understood exactly what the people of this city had lost, and knew what horrors might lay ahead.

They had all been in the kitchen together — Smellerbee and Longshot washing cups, Jet having just come back from a delivery, his shirt damp with sweat. He's been chatting with Li's uncle, Mushi, as he watched the older man blend the afternoon brew, measuring fragrant leaves into a tiny metal bowl. The Jasmine Dragon had opened for business a few days earlier, after weeks of harried preparation. Jet had never held any kind of job before, but he'd been getting used to it. The deliveries meant he never had to stay inside for long.

That day, Li had been the only waiter on duty. Jet remembered Li's face as he ducked out of the main room: tight-lipped and stoney, though Jet could tell he was worried. Still holding a tray in one white-knuckled hand, Li headed for the stairs.

"Hey, wait up," said Jet, laughing a little. A hand on his shoulder stopped Li for a moment, long enough for Jet to take the tray from him and set it aside. "Where you going in such a rush?"

"The roof." Li was often serious, but something in his tone gave Jet pause. When Li started climbing again, Jet followed close behind him, the amusement of a few moments before already forgotten.

Ba Sing Se was a sprawling beast of a city, and the Jasmine Dragon stood near the heart of it. But from the roof they could still see the outer wall, a ribbon of sand-colored stone that surrounded them on all sides. They had come up here before to watch the sun set, Li quiet and Jet chattering about whatever came into his head. Now, Li squinted carefully at the skyline, a hand held up to shade his eyes.

But Jet's eyes were sharper, and though he didn't know what he was looking for he nevertheless found it first: a cloud of yellow dust billowing up into the western sky. He pointed, and Li let out a long, slow breath, his hand coming down to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"A soldier came into the shop," he said. "He was yelling about the wall. That someone had brought it down."

"That's ridiculous," said Jet reflexively.

"I know."

Both of them knew. Every Earth Kingdom child knew of the Dragon of the West, the only man who'd tasted anything like victory over the impenetrable city. Not even his months-long siege had been enough to break through the walls.

They knew it was impossible. Yet they stood and watched the cloud as it settled, blown east over the city.

What struck Jet first was how clean a hole had been made. There wasn't any rubble that he could see, no crumbling blocks of stone, no cracks in what remained. The wall simply ended, the harbor visible through the gap that had been left.

Jet clenched his teeth against a wild, indulgent moment of denial, long seconds in which he pretended not to see, not to understand what had happened. He stared hard at the place where the wall had been, at sunlight glimmering off the water, until the worst of it had passed. Then he scanned the wide, green plains of the agrarian zone that lay between the outer wall and the first of the city's rings, his heart still pounding. The air was hazy, but he could see a dark line moving through the fields.

A sharp breath beside him told him Li had seen it, too. Together, they watched in horrified silence as the next wall fell, neat columns of stone sinking down into the dust.

"Bastards," Jet whispered. "Those fucking bastards finally did it."

"Jet…"

"We have to go."

"Jet."

"We have to go and fight them." Jet's hands moved to his swords as he plotted a route across the rooftops, old instincts bubbling to the surface. "Maybe we can still-"

"Jet," Li said a third time, loud enough now to make him pause. "Fight who?"

Jet turned to Li, incredulous. "The Fire Nation," he said.

Li's gaze shifted back to the outer wall. "Firebenders couldn't have done that."

"What are you talking about?" Jet asked, but even then he knew. As soon as Li pointed it out, the truth of what had happened was obvious, a cruel unwanted knowledge that made his eyes sting at the corners. A hundred years of war, so many lives given to protect their greatest city, their pride and their last hope. Only to end like this.

Mushi was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, his apron gone and a bag slung over his shoulder. Jet had never seen him look so grave — it made him seem older, the lines on his face deepened by worry.

"It's true, then?" he asked. Li nodded, and Mushi closed his eyes for a brief moment. "I had hoped it would not come to this," he said as he opened them again. "These old bones are tired of running. But it seems that fate is not ready to let me rest just yet."

Li's brow drew down. "You're leaving."

"Yes."

Li glanced at the bag, and the next word came out small and strangled. "Now?"

"I cannot risk being trapped inside the city," said Mushi, gentle but firm. "There is too much work to be done."

"I understand," said Li, though Jet could hear the strain in his voice, and felt Li's fingers brush his palm. "I'll go get my things."

Mushi stepped forward, reaching up to squeeze Li's shoulder. "I will not tell you what to do, my nephew." His tone was intimate, as if Jet wasn't standing a few inches away. "But perhaps your place is here."

"Uncle-"

"One man can travel more quickly than two." His eyes flickered sideways, meeting Jet's for an instant. "And there are others who might need you more than I do."

"But…" Li looked between the two of them, visibly torn, and Jet's heart fluttered in his chest. "Uncle, I can't. Not after what happened before."

"We will not be apart for long," said Mushi. "We will see each other again."

Jaw tight and eyes squeezed shut, Li managed one, stiff nod. Then Mushi drew him into a fierce embrace, his head barely reaching Li's collar bone. "I will return as soon as I can."

"I know," Li whispered. "I know, Uncle."

"I am so proud of you," said Mushi, hoarse with emotion. "I am so very proud of everything you've done."

Li bowed his head, lip caught between his teeth and shoulders trembling. "I haven't done anything."

"You have. And you will." With a loud sniff he pulled back, eyes shining as he clasped one of Li's hands in both of his. "Do not lose hope, my nephew. I know it is sometimes hard to see the light at the end of all of this, but if you just keep moving — keep struggling — you will come to a better place. "

Mushi turned to smile at Smellerbee and Longshot, who had watched this exchange in their usual, quiet way. "Thank you for your help," he said, bowing to each of them. He met Jet's eyes one last time, serious even as he smiled. "Please take care of him."

Then he was gone, and Li stood in his new uniform and starched apron, staring down at the Pai Sho tile in his palm.

Longshot and Smellerbee looked to Jet with questions on their faces. "Get the customers out of here," said Jet. "Then barricade the doors."

When they'd gone, Jet moved toward Li, stopping just short of where he stood. Things were new between them, then, the spark still fresh and untested. But when Jet slipped an arm around Li's waist, Li didn't pull away.

They stood that way for some time, silent and unmoving, Li's eyes on the fist he'd clenched around the tile.

"What am I supposed to do now?" Li rasped.

Jet felt Li's empty hand curl over his, and he pulled the other boy a little closer, pressed his lips to cropped brown hair. "What do you want to do?" Li shook his head mutely, and Jet reached up to touch his unburned cheek, feeling the frustrated heat that had risen there. "How about you stay with me for a while, then," he said. "Until you can figure it out."

"What're you going to do?"

Jet paused to think, though he didn't really need to. He'd known what he would do from the moment the dust had settled. "The Earthbenders helped them," he said quietly. "That means the army's worthless, now. Maybe the Dai Li, too." Even as this new burden formed in his mind, he felt oddly relieved. He'd missed having so clear a purpose. "Someone else is gonna have to fight for these people. Someone's gonna have to look out for them."

All those months ago, standing with Li in the empty kitchen, he'd known he wanted to look out for more than just the city; that he wanted to protect something selfish and specific.

"Li," he whispered now, a summer later, his voice swallowed by perfect darkness. What had happened to Li?

He didn't know where he was, or how he'd gotten there. He remembered the guardhouse, the Dai Li agent who'd dropped on him from the ceiling, Smellerbee yelling his name. After that his memory dissolved into a haze of pain and movement, the darkness of unconsciousness and the darkness of this room bleeding into each other, indistinguishable.

He could feel heavy cuffs on his wrists and ankles, cold and sharp, held close to the iron wall by chains he could hear but not see, metallic echos his only hint at the size of his cell. He didn't know how much time had passed. Not too long — the cuts on his lips were gummy with half-clotted blood. He could still feel both his hands, though his joints ached from the strain of supporting his weight while he was out.

The hawk. Had the hawk ever come? He couldn't remember seeing it, but he hoped it had. Bad enough that he'd let himself get picked up like this — far worse would be if he'd failed Li by doing so.

He tried not to think about it, but in this empty iron box his thoughts were all he had, and they swirled unchecked through possibilities. What if the Dai Li had gone to the yards? What if Li and the others hadn't made it out in time? What if they hadn't finished? What if their plan had failed entirely, the tanks left whole and deadly in their neat, nightmarish rows? What if Li shared in his fate, alone in another damp, black room?

One thing, at least, Jet could be certain of: if Li wasn't here already, wasn't chained to these same walls, then he was on his way. Jet didn't think this because of some inflated sense of self-importance; he simply knew it to be true. If Li was alive and free then he would come, however long it took, however difficult the road between.

"Keep struggling" Mushi had said, but Li didn't need to be told. He fought like most men breathed. Whatever happened, whatever stood before him, he never stopped. Jet doubted that he could.

oOo

Jet heard the faraway sound of a body hitting the floor, the dull thud of impact echoing through corridors. He held his breath, straining to detect some other hint of what was happening outside his cell. Minutes passed with nothing but the ringing in his ears, growing louder until he gave in to the need for air and took another breath. Maybe he'd just imagined it.

When it came, the next sound was startlingly close: the careful scrape of stone against metal, no more than four or five feet away in the black expanse in front of him. He heard the muffled click of a lock turning over, then a sliver of green light appeared on the floor, widening as the door groaned open, filling his cell with a brightness that seemed like daylight after so long in the dark. It came from small, glowing crystals, hung around the necks of two men with cloth masks over their faces.

Jet waited for them to close the door again before his spoke, smiling though it hurt to do so, the cuts on his lips torn open. "What took you so long?"

Li was at his side in an instant, mask pulled down, breath quick and hot against Jet's cheek. "Are you okay?" His hands moved over Jet's ribs, prodding gently. "Did they break anything? Can you walk?"

"I'm fine," Jet chuckled. "I'm glad you guys showed up, though. It's pretty dull around here." He turned his head toward the other man, who'd crouched down at his feet. "That you, Ping?"

Ping grunted an affirmative, and Jet felt the cuffs around his ankles move. "This one is more complicated," he muttered. Jet had watched him work before, and recognized the soft, grinding sound of stone forced into a lock.

Apparently satisfied that Jet was still in one piece, Li slid both arms around him, his face pressed to Jet's neck. Jet could feel him shaking, and he rubbed his cheek against Li's hair, breathing in his scent. "I was worried about you," Jet murmured. The trembling worsened, and Jet felt his smile falter. "Hey, you all right?" Li pulled him closer, fingers digging into the fabric of his tunic. "Come on, Li, you're freaking me out a-"

"I forgot the hawk," Li rasped.

Jet swallowed through the lump that had formed in his throat. "What?"

"I forgot to send the hawk."

Jet told himself he'd known something like this might happen. He'd known Li was having a bad night, that he might be distracted. It didn't mean anything. It was just a stupid mistake. "It's okay," he said. "You're here, now. That's what matters, right?" Hitching up the corners up his mouth again, he said, "How's it going down there, Ping?"

"Almost," Ping muttered.

"Jet, I'm sorry," Li whispered. "I'm sorry, this is all my fault."

"Li…"

"It won't happen again. I'll never let it happen again. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. I mean, I was, but…" He buried his face even closer, hugging Jet so hard that it hurt. "I was thinking about the wrong things. My head just…it's all too much, and I can't…I don't know-"

"We'll talk about it later, okay?" said Jet. He couldn't handle this right now. "Let's just worry about getting out of here."

Another click, and Jet felt the first cuff give way. Relief washed over him in a dizzying flood. Ping knew what he was doing. In a few minutes Jet would be free, and then the worst of this mess would be over.

Ping had just set to work on the next cuff when Jet heard it: a shout, and then the pound of feet on metal floors somewhere above them, much too fast and much too close.

Li pulled away, finally, his hand moving to the hilts above his left shoulder. Ping swore, which Jet had never heard him do, then rose up out of his crouch.

"We have to go," he said.

Li and Jet both stared at him for a moment in confused silence. "But you're not done," said Li. "Jet's still-"

"The locks are all different," said Ping with a cold, exhausted certainty. "I won't be able to open them in time."

"But…you have to at least try!" said Li, no longer bothering to keep his voice low. "We can't just leave him here!"

"There's nothing else I can do."

If there had been any doubt before that moment, now Jet knew for certain: they were under Lake Laogai. Ping had told them what happened here, what the Dai Li did to people and what remained when they were finished. He felt his throat close, felt his heart leap into a frenzy of panicked beating. He couldn't control his blood and breath, but he could force his features to behave, and he twisted them into something like confidence. "Li, don't worry. I'll be fine. Just…" He swallowed again. "Just go with Ping, okay? We'll figure something out."

"No."

"Li, we don't have time for this shit," Jet hissed, losing even the veneer of calm. "Just get out of here!"

But Li's mouth was set in a thin, straight line that Jet had seen before, a line there was no arguing with. His eyes flickered over the chains and cuffs still holding Jet to the wall. "You brought a rock with you?" he asked, suddenly terse and grim. Ping held out an upturned hand, where a small, smooth stone rested — probably what he'd used to pick the locks. Li's mouth went even thinner as he reached for the chain attached to Jet's right arm, holding it both his fists. "When I say, hit the place between my hands."

Li had moved so that Jet couldn't see what he was doing. But Jet didn't have to see. He could feel the heat as it rose and crested, watched the light in the cell melt from green to red.

"Now," said Li. Two strikes, and Ping was through, Jet's arm swinging down to hang limply at his side.

Most of the blood had drained out of his hands, so he clenched and unclenched his fist, flexing his long fingers. He didn't watch as Li moved on to the next chain; his eyes were on his own arm as he lifted it away from the wall and held it out in front of him. The broken links glowed with heat. The same heat Jet could feel washing over his left hand; the heat that radiated from between Li's fists.

Later, he would wonder how he'd stayed so calm; how he could stand there rubbing the feeling back into his arms, gauging his own exhaustion — how fast he'd be able to run, how well he'd be able to fight if it came to that. He wasn't stupid, nor was he naive. He knew what was happening, knew what that heat meant. But he couldn't think about it. He couldn't think about any of it yet.

"Now," said Li, a third and final time. When he stood, the grim stubbornness was gone. His task finished, he looked boyish and uncertain, hands moving restlessly over his thighs, as if he didn't know what to do with them once their secrets had been laid bare.

They stared at each other for what must have been seconds but felt like hours. The truth had torn a hole too large for any words to fill; a gaping, hungry silence that swallowed up anything Jet might have thought to say. What could he say, in the face of this? What answer did he have for the broken chains that dangled from his wrists, or for the stranger that stood in front of him, wearing the face of someone he'd loved?

"Jet," Li whispered, cutting down into something deep and irrational, the protective core that knew this tone so well, that knew how scared Li was, could hear the crease in his brow and the tension in his shoulders. Jet's fingers twitched, ready to comb through the tangles of Li's hair, to push it back from Li's forehead so he could kiss that crease away.

But he could feel the heat that rolled over his skin in dry, merciless waves. He could feel it, and he knew. He would always know.

When Li reached for him, the answer came of its own accord.

"Don't you fucking touch me." Jet heard his own words as if from a distance, as if someone else was saying them. Li recoiled, but that brought Jet no relief from the pressure building in his skull or the relentless pounding of his heart against his ribs.

Another shout, no more than fifty feet away. Li pulled his mask back on, over the hurt so maddeningly plain on his face. "I'll distract them," he said.

Then he was gone, footsteps and voices fading as they followed him.

oOo

Somehow they made it to the surface, broken chains rattling against ladder rungs as Jet climbed toward the circle of sky. He remembered very little of their flight through underwater corridors; even less about what happened afterward. Once they'd crossed into the city, familiarity and habit took over. Ping sped them along the network of sewers as quickly as stealth would allow, riding a stone sledge with Jet crouched behind him. Jet gripped the sharp edges harder than he needed to, staring straight ahead and saying nothing.

Ping didn't bother with the formality of knocking. He bent them both up through the kitchen floor, liquid stone coursing around them. Usually Jet found that sort of thing disorienting, but tonight he barely noticed.

Harder to ignore were Jin's arms around his neck. And then her voice, worried and exhausted as she asked about him — where he was and why he wasn't with them — the same questions over and over again, the same name that drove into Jet's skull like something sharp and dangerous. Soon the name was all he heard, the rest blurring together into a meaningless hum, too hard to make out above the sound of blood in his ears.

He stumbled past her and into the main room, vaguely aware of Ping's quiet voice answering her. No one else tried to talk to him. It was late, and the canvas halls were empty.

He pushed the hangings aside and a shaft of lamplight fell across Smellerbee and Longshot's faces, close together on the rough pillow. Smellerbee blinked sleepily, one hand coming up to shield her eyes. She said his name, and Jet opened his mouth to answer. It took several tries before anything came out.

"Bee," he rasped, the most he could manage. The pressure kept building, throbbing in his temples.

She understood, as she always did — she had known him for most of her life. "Longshot," she murmured, shaking the other boy's thin shoulders.

Blankets were pushed aside, and then she was taking Jet's hand as Longshot yawned behind her. "Let's go outside," she said.

Jet followed as she pulled him toward the front door. He watched her push the bar aside, wishing she would move faster. He felt like his head would split. He could feel the scream clawing up his throat.

The night air brought no relief or clarity. He struggled to focus on Smellerbee's face as she took him by the shoulders and frowned up into his eyes. "Jet, what happened?" she asked quietly. "Where's Li?"

Jet shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut. His legs were trembling too badly to hold him up anymore, so he slumped down to his knees, his palms flat on the hard, smooth stone.

Smellerbee crouched in front of him, still holding his upper arms. "Did something happen to Li?"

"He's…" Jet tried to get the words out but they choked him, cut off his air and made his head swim. He couldn't say it. He tried but he couldn't say it, and as he tried his heart beat harder and the roar grew louder until it was all he could hear.

He felt himself scream. Thin arms wrapped around him, a small hand on the back of his head, but he couldn't stop. He screamed until his throat was raw and he lacked the breath to go on; until he could hear it, echoing through the alleyways and out over the dying city.

Then he dropped his head to her shoulder, the cloth damp against his face. "I'm sorry," she said, though she couldn't have known. She probably thought he was dead.

Maybe that would have been better.

oOo

Zuko knew he would have to knock eventually. He'd been sitting on the squat, metal box where they kept their coal for at least a quarter hour, staring at the kitchen door. Someone must have noticed him by now. They were probably wondering why he hadn't knocked already, given the state he was in — dusty and bedraggled, his arms and hands covered with scratches, a puffy bruise rising on his cheek. He was exhausted, limbs heavy with an aching weariness that went through to his bones. All he wanted was to peel the clothes from his body and spend the next hour soaking in hot water, then crawl into bed with Jet curled up beside him.

But that wasn't what would happen. Zuko knew better than to hope Jet might be asleep already, or that their talk would wait any longer than the time it took him to climb the stairs to their room. Jet wasn't patient on the best of days. He was probably waiting in the kitchen right now, chin resting on laced fingers and hazel eyes locked on the door. He would want an explanation, and Zuko certainly owed him one — and an apology, as well, for having kept so crucial a secret for so long.

He still didn't know what or how much he should say. How much he could say to Jet without breaking the thread that connected them. He knew this first truth was nothing compared to what followed, but he would have to say something, about who he really was and what had brought him to the city. After what had happened under Lake Laogai, he couldn't put it off any longer.

Two short and four long, then he waited with his arms folded as a chair was pushed back from the kitchen table and soft footsteps padded across the slate floor. Too soft to be Jet. Zuko's shoulders fell even before the peephole cover slid aside.

"You came back." Jin's eyes were red, the skin under them more shadowed than ever.

"Of course I did," said Zuko.

The door opened, but Jin didn't move to let him pass. She slipped through the gap and shut it behind her, then leaned back against it, her palms flat on the wood. Zuko shifted his weight from one foot to the other, watching her gaze flicker from the cobbles to the front of his shirt and back again, unable to think of anything to say.

"Ping told me," Jin murmured.

Zuko remembered the family he'd met on the plains — the messy-haired boy who spoke so fondly of his brother, the parents who'd offered a hungry stranger a place to stay. He remembered the fight with the Earthbender in the town square, the boy pushed behind his terrified mother, Zuko's gift rejected and his kindness forgotten. Not this, he thought. Please, not this again.

"I won't hurt you," he said, silently pleading with her to believe him.

Jin's eyes snapped up to his, then, brow furrowed and lips parted in surprise. She looked hurt, though Zuko couldn't see how that made any sense. "I know that, Li," she said. "Of course you won't."

But she didn't open the door. She stayed where she was, blocking it with her body.

"I won't hurt anyone else, either," he said slowly, unsure what she expected of him.

"I know."

"Then why are we still out here?"

Jin looked away again, this time focusing on the toes of her shoes. He could see her face had flushed beneath her bangs. "Li, things are complicated right now," she whispered. "Maybe you should find someplace else to stay."

"What?"

Her hands slid together behind her, her shoulders hunched up toward her ears. "Just for a little while."

"But…I have to talk to Jet," said Zuko. He hated how foolish and desperate he sounded, but he couldn't help himself. He knew how Jet could be, what would happen if he was left with too much time to stew on his own. "I have to explain."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Zuko ran his fingers through his filthy hair, matted with lake water and mud. "Jin, I know he's upset, but I have to talk to him."

"I really think you should wait," said Jin, slow and measured, her careful neutrality only tightening the knot in his gut.

Zuko looked past her, not at the door but at the building itself, the green plaster walls and shuttered windows, the low gables roofed in terra cotta tiles. Months of hard use and overcrowding had left it patched and worn, but Uncle would have liked it that way. He always wanted things to look lived in, often saying a building's soul lay in the people who dwelled there. It would have made him happy to know his teashop had become a home for so many, the only refuge left in a city ground down by war.

But the door wasn't going to open for him tonight. And though he tried to push the truth of it out of his head, to pretend he didn't know why they were standing in this alleyway instead of sipping tea in the kitchen, there was no denying it. "Did he tell you not to let me in?" he asked, to give her one last chance to tell him he was wrong.

"Li…"

Zuko felt his face contort, his hands balled into fists as he kicked the metal coal bin with all the strength he had left, hard enough to leave a dent. "What happened to 'every man has his secrets'?" He knew he shouldn't yell, that it might attract the worst kind of attention, but he couldn't stop. The hot, churning mess in his stomach had nowhere else to go. "Was that just bullshit? Does it only count if you're from the fucking Earth Kingdom?"

"Li-"

"What the hell?!"

Jin bit her lip, eyes still on the ground. "This is different."

"How?"

"Li, they…" Jin looked back through the peephole, as if to check if anyone was listening. When she went on, her voice was barely loud enough to hear. "You know what happened to his family."

"I didn't do that!" he snapped.

"I know, but-"

"That had nothing to do with me!" But even as he said it he knew it wasn't true. Not completely. The anger drained from him as quickly as it had flared, leaving him with a cold, empty feeling in his chest. "Jin, just let me talk to him," he whispered.

"I can't."

"Please. Just open the door."

"Li, I'm sorry," she said, and despite the present circumstance he believed her. None of this was her fault.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to concentrate. "There's a bag in the kitchen," he said. "Under the sink, behind some crates."

Jin nodded. She raised her mouth to the level of the peephole and said, "It's all right, Ping." Then she disappeared inside, leaving Zuko alone in the alley. He sat back down on the coal bin and waited.

When she came out again, she held the bag in one hand and a cloth-wrapped box in the other, the fabric knotted carefully into a handle at the top. "This should be enough for lunch and dinner," she said.

He hated being pitied this way, but he was too hungry and exhausted to turn down charity. "Thanks," he said dully, standing again to take them both from her.

"Just a couple of days," she said, her attempt at a smile only making everything worse.

"Sure," said Zuko. He shouldered the bag and tucked the box under one arm. He imagined he could feel her eyes on him as he turned and walked away.

oOo

Jet sat with his back to the front door, swords laid out on either side of him and hands splayed over the hilts. Longshot was in the curtained-off corner that passed for an infirmary, helping Xue Sheng with the last of round of stitches, but Smellerbee had stayed close by. Jet was glad for that, as much as he could be glad of anything that day.

He watched as Jin ducked out of the kitchen and crossed the room, stopping a few feet in front of him. "He's gone," she said. He could tell she was angry, but he didn't care. He crossed his arms and glared up at her, waiting for her to say whatever it was she felt she needed to. "He looked terrible."

"Good."

"He must have swum across that lake," she said. "He was by himself. He must have climbed the wall bare-handed and walked all day to get back here." Jet had no answer for that, which seemed to make her even angrier. Her whole body started to shake. "You could have at least talked to him."

"I don't talk to Fire Nation," said Jet. "I kill them."

A tear slid down Jin's cheek, even as her hands curled into trembling fists. "Don't say things like that," she whispered, hoarse with quiet fury. "He's still Li."

"Li's dead," said Jet. Smellerbee tensed beside him, but he didn't move. He held Jin's bright, wet gaze, his face as hard and cold as he could keep it, like a shield held between them. "Li died under that lake."

Jin crumpled as if he'd slapped her, her face white and shining as she turned and ran for the shelter of her own, small square of the room. The canvas hangings did little to muffle the sound of her sobs.

When Smellerbee spoke her voice was low, too soft for anyone but him to hear. "We don't know everything," she said.

Jet pushed himself to his feet and hung his swords on his belt. "I know enough."

oOo

Jet wasn't going to let this beat him. He was still the leader of the Freedom Fighters. He was still in control. He would get up every morning and do whatever he had to, fight whatever battles stood between them and their liberty. He had more important things to worry about than some traitor, more important things to do than feeling sorry for himself.

He had stayed in the courtyard with Smellerbee for a long time, struggling to put himself back together again, to reassemble the broken bits and pieces of the face he had to wear. By early morning he had come back inside, and after that he'd kept himself as busy as he could, stopping only to let Ping remove the cuffs from his wrists and ankle. But for a hour or so of unconsciousness, he'd been awake for over a day, half of it spent running or fighting or both. By the time night fell he was too exhausted to put off sleep any longer, his vision starting to blur.

"You can stay with us," Smellerbee murmured, and Jet wanted very badly to accept. But that would have been a surrender, a concession he wasn't willing to make. So he shook his head, thanked her, and went to climb the narrow stairs that lead up to the store room. His room, he told himself as he opened the flimsy door.

He'd brought a lantern with him, which he hung from a nail in the rafters. He went to the bed and forced his legs to bend, to lower his body down onto the thin mattress. But as soon as he'd done it, he knew it had been a mistake. The smell of the sheets, the feel of them against the bare skin of his palms, was too much for him to take. He jerked away as if he'd been burned, stumbled across the narrow space and slid down the opposite wall, crammed between the shelf and the door, his knees pulled tight against his chest so his feet wouldn't touch the bed.

Beside and just above him, a neat pile of armor gleamed in the lamplight.

He saw it all at once, a sudden flood of memory that threatened to drown him. All the lies he'd been told, lies he should have seen through from the start, a long string of vague stories about a childhood in some distant city, vaguer explanations for how he'd learned to fight, how he'd come to know so much about messenger hawks and troop movements and the moods of Fire Nation generals. Candles and stoves all lit too quickly, bath water that stayed hot for too long, a mouth and body that were always so warm, always burning with their own heat — a heat Jet had never questioned, never thought about except to be grateful for it.

He remembered those long, thin fingers on his skin — fingers that could pull flame from the air, that could destroy whatever they touched. The same hands that threw men into burning houses and pulled children from their mothers, that left nothing behind them but ash and blackened bones

Jet ran from the room with a hand clamped over his mouth, holding it shut just long enough for him to reach the sink. He vomited until there was nothing left, then sat on the floor with his head between his knees, trying to steady his breath until the worst of the dry heaves passed and he could find the strength to stand again.

Smellerbee and Longshot were already asleep, but Longshot stirred as Jet lay down beside him. He mumbled a soft greeting and draped an arm over Jet's ribs, wiry and strong from a lifetime of notching arrows. Jet closed his eyes and listened to his friends breathe. He tried to imagine he could hear the forest as well, the rustling leaves and night birds of his boyhood in the trees. But he couldn't. All he could hear was the city, too many people too close together, packed between walls and trapped in small lives they would never be able to control.

"You okay?" Smellerbee mumbled, her words thick with sleep.

"I'm fine," said Jet.

He watched the sky through gaps in the shuttered windows, waiting for the dawn.

oOo

The windows of their old home were dark. Looters had pried the lamps off of the walls, and the door was slightly ajar, splintered where someone had forced it open. City air thick with dust and coal smoke had left a thin, black film on every surface, undisturbed for weeks, at least. Months, maybe. In a city abandoned by all who could afford to, there were better places to squat.

The spare rooms were empty of everything but the earthenware stove and the musty, rat-chewed carpet, which somehow made them feel even smaller. Zuko wrestled the window shutters closed, rust-covered hinges dissolving as they moved. A flick of his hand lit a small fire in the stove, just enough to see by as he settled down cross-legged on the floor.

His map was water-stained and torn along the edges, but still readable. Uncle had emerged from one of his secret old man meetings with it rolled up in his hand, and they'd used it on their journey across the plains toward Full Moon Bay. Their progress was marked in Uncle's handwriting, the elegant, flowing characters what one would expect of royalty. Now Zuko traced his fingertips along the wrinkled paper, following the narrow strip of land that stretched across the water. Here it looked deceptively straight and smooth, inked lines offering no hint of the jagged peaks that stood there. He'd seen them himself, standing on the deck of a ferry with a strange boy beside him, a stalk of wheat quivering in the breeze.

The city wasn't the point of this map, its usefulness ending at the curve of the first wall. Beyond that, only the most general details had been added, a series of undulating rings nested within each other, the palace an unadorned box in the center, a shapeless blue pool standing in for Lake Laogai. Ba Sing Se was an island, a country all its own, connected to the rest of the continent out of necessity rather than desire. Now it fought the war in miniature, battles won and lives lost in in the narrow, twisting streets, the minutia important only to those who lived there. The rest of the world wasn't watching anymore. The Earth Kingdom had already fallen, after all — who cared about a gang of hungry kids who didn't know when to give up?

That had nothing to do with me. In the alleyway he'd felt foolish, aware of how absurd a thing it was for the Fire Lord's son to say. But then, so much of his life was absurd; had been that way for a long, long time. Here in this crumbling tenement, it was easier to step back from himself, to see how he must look from the outside. A banished prince, chasing rumors up and down a foreign coastline, his life narrowed to a quest no one believed he would ever complete. On the cusp of miraculous success, even that had been taken away from him — pushed aside by a career-minded buffoon looking for glory, doubly condemned by his father, his little sister sent to drag him home in chains.

Zuko had known it was her from the moment he saw that great, gaping hole in the wall. Of course she was behind it. Of course she'd found some way to do what three generations of Fire Lords had failed to manage, had discovered the trick to turning her enemy against itself, a snake eating its own tail as she watched and waited for a chance to finish it off.

In the days after the walls came down, while the others had gone out on their own, urgent business, Jet had suggested he stay behind at the Jasmine Dragon, ostensibly to keep an eye on things. Embarrassed at being so transparently shaken and feeling an unforgivable coward, Zuko had nonetheless done as he was told. If Azula had known he was in the city, she would have been looking for him, and Zuko wouldn't be the one to lead her back to their home.

But he needn't have worried, it seemed. Once Azula had plucked the city from the Earth King's grasp she had lingered only a few days more, her missing brother unremarked upon. No wanted posters had appeared. No one had ever tried to find him. In months of battle, not one of the soldiers he'd fought had recognized his face, even in full daylight. Not once had anyone mentioned his name.

Zuko tugged open his little pouch of tea and held it under his nose, taking long, deep breaths of jasmine — the scent of his uncle, his own bed in the attic, the clothes Jet kept between the cannisters. It calmed his racing heart a little, but with that calm came a terrible, unwanted clarity.

His old life had already forgotten him. And now his new one was determined to do the same.

It would be easy to let them, a welcome relief after so many years of fighting. He could stay here, safe if not particularly comfortable, and wait for Uncle's return, one nameless refugee among thousands. No one else would come for him; the only person who'd even know where to look had made his intentions clear.

But Zuko knew he couldn't do that. He knew he'd rather die than fade away.

Jet had spoken, sometimes, of his youth spent on the edge of things, king of his tiny corner of the world. Years of struggle, and what had they done? Discouraged a few battalions that always came back, protected one small valley from the worst of the war, only to sacrifice it later in a desperate bid for real progress. Jet had come to Ba Sing Se looking for a new life, and instead he'd found a new cause. One he had some hope of winning, however small that hope might be.

Jet hated the city, but he never spoke of leaving. The few times someone had suggested he go back to the forest, he'd said "That's not where I'm needed right now," and that had been the end of it. The forest would always be his home, but this was where could make a difference. This was where he could do something that mattered.

Xi Mian Bay was beyond the reach of his map, but Zuko knew precisely where it would have been — a few inches to the left of the parchment's edge, a few more down, a harbor too small and rocky to support more than a scattering of fisherman's houses. In his old life, he'd had to know such things. In his old life, he would have been on the way there already, the Avatar his only thought, the rest of the world and its suffering a gray, flat background of no consequence to him.

He closed his eyes, hand tightening around the pouch of tea. His mind and his heart were an exhausted mess, conflicting desires all tangled up into a knot he couldn't begin to unravel. He didn't know what was right anymore. He didn't know what he wanted.

But he knew what he would do. Jet had been right about one thing, at least: Zuko would go where he was needed.

oOoOo