William fingered the revolver at his hip, a headache pulsating behind his eyes. "We have exactly seventeen minutes before the next take-off..."

People slugged passed. Bodies moved slowly, shuffling in the tight embrace of the boarding crowd. Large bags and cases scraped the concrete floor of the Zeppelin Airstrip. Rigging tapped and slapped in the wind, and the whirr of the blimp’s propellers buzzed, a hive of overactive bees. The stench of oil and scorched rubber stung the back of William's throat, and the grey, bitter smoke that melded in with the layer of white clouds above brought tears to his eyes.

A child dropped a bag of liquorice, her face burning red, and a cry burst like cannon fire from her quivering lips. On the other side of the yard, a dog bounded down from a boarding bridge. Its sharp, whip-like bark cracked through the noise, frightening a workhorse below that whinnied and kicked, its back legs narrowly avoiding a Zeppelin tether line.

At the crowd's edge, a young boy tugged on a woman's skirt.

"Hurry, mummy. We may miss it!" He whined. A pair of brass goggles clung to his forehead, and a costume pilot's uniform, complete with a stitched zeppelin on his purple sleeve, hung two sizes too large over his body.

"We won't miss it, dear, we have..." The woman’s voice disappeared as the two fell further into the fray—out of sight and now out of William's mind.

He stood, watching at the perimeter of it all.

Waiting.

He glanced again at his pocket watch.

The black hands ticked two minutes to four.

They had too much time, and yet, time was running out. 'The Twits'—as Shaye had so affectionately called them—were closing in far too quickly, and William couldn't see a way out that didn't involve a little confrontation. He was no seer, after all, much to Shaye's disappointment.

But someone was missing. With the pounding noise and the dizzying stream of people, William hadn't noticed. “Where the hell is Rhea?”

“She was...” Shaye spun around, a light blush kissing her brown cheeks. Her cherry pink hair sprung out in a cloud of coils, and she tugged a curl behind her ear. “Damn! She was right behind me. I’ll go find her.”

“No.” Fifteen minutes. Damn. “It’s better if we sta—”

“You stay here. Keep watch.” She wiggled her gloved fingers in his face. “Observe. I’ll BRB.”

“There’s only fifteen minutes left. If the Zepp arrives and—”

“I’ll find her, Will, quick as a flash. Don't worry yourself. Now... Stay. Here.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Shaye covered her curls with her hood, and a bright smile flashed from the shadows. “I just did. So suck it.”

"Be careful," William said, and something pulled taut in his throat, for he knew the words were futile. “And fast.”

Shaye was a Shifter. She could alter her face, body, and clothes to look like another. All she needed was a model, someone to base her appearance on, and a little sprinkle of imagination. If trouble came, Shaye could slip into the shadows as one person and exit as another, quickly vanishing unnoticed into a passing crowd. William envied her sometimes. What he wouldn't give to go unnoticed.

Shaye’s dark form soon melted into the bustling populace, and William was alone.

He returned his father's pocket watch into his waistcoat pocket, but a twitch of his hand brought it out again, his thumb working over the lid's clasp.

Fourteen minutes.

It was still plenty of time, he thought, trying to console the tightening in his chest.

But also not enough time.

Why did Rhea have to be so careless? Playing with time when she knew how precious it was. Anything could have happened to her: she got lost, kidnapped, slipped and fell down some stairs. Or the Twits had found her, and they were using her as bait to lure the rest of them out.

He should have followed Shaye, or simply made her stay. What use were his abilities if those he had sworn to protect were out of range of his protection?

He should have gone with her. She should have stayed.

Fidgeting with the handle of his revolver, William scanned the airstrip. The Twits were easy enough to spot. As most of them were from Echary, they tended to stand five or six inches taller, much like Rhea. But unlike Rhea, these men and women sported a red ‘X’ tattoo on their left cheek—a mark that pledged their allegiance.

William glanced down at himself. Surrounded by the colourful clothes of the commoners, he supposed his plain, brown tailcoat and black waistcoat were quite conspicuous in itself. And what better way to distract himself than a costume change.

He shed his coat and slipped behind a waiting family of four, grabbing a bright yellow worker's cap and plum woollen jacket from the top of the man's suitcase. The hat sat comfortably over his black hair, and the jacket hugged his arms, the white fluff about the collar brushing his neck. He found a battered wallet inside the pocket and, removing the very sparse number of capital notes, William left the empty wallet on top of a barrel of rice. Hopefully, someone would find it and return it to the gentleman.

With his new disguise, William returned to the waiting spot.

Ten minutes.

Shaye had been gone too long.

From where he stood, William could see all four watchtowers positioned at each corner of the airstrip. They stretched high into the clouds, searching the skies, and called incoming Zeppelin's to port and sent outgoing ones out. A perfect spot to watch and wait. Up there, it’d be easier to find what you were looking for.

Or who.

William squinted against the sun’s glare. Two guards stood at the top of the north tower, as well as the west. Only one guard patrolled the south, but the east... William could make out two people, but neither wore guard purple. They were too far away for any distinct feature to show, but they had to be Twits.

“Damn,” William swore.

If there were two on the tower, there had to be more on the ground, out in the open—where Shaye and Rhea were.

“Damn.” One of the Twits’ arms jutted out towards the ground. “Damn. Damn, damn!”

Ducking behind a stack of empty crates, William removed his revolver from the holster at his hip.

He had to think.

The bulbous red balloon of the Zeppelin Legendary was docked to the east of the airstrip. A conductor stood just outside the steadily closing door, the airship's engine whirring, readying for take-off.

William crouched further behind the crate, aiming the barrel of his revolver through a crack in the wood. He closed his eyes and pictured the two Twits on the watchtower.

He waited for the wail of the door, then...

Fired once. Twice.

Smoke billowed from the two cylinders, but the bang of the discharged bullets was lost in the echo of the closed Zeppelin door.

William poked his head out. Both Twits were gone. Hit or hiding, he couldn't be sure. But he hoped it would give Shaye and Rhea a little more time.

Swallowing the dryness in his throat, he checked his pocket watch.

Seven minutes.

"Any trouble?" William jumped as a child’s voice squeaked in his ear.

Caught in the grip of the young girl's hand, Rhea’s shoulders slumped, and her bag fell to the ground's wooden slats. The young girl flashed a bright smile, the coils of her auburn pigtails brushing the frills on the shoulders of her pink dress.

“William," Rhea whined, shoving the girl away. "Tell Shaye to shift. She wouldn't stop crying. An officer on the barge thought I’d snatched a child and a random woman WHACKED me with her bag." She rubbed her arm, and her black-painted bottom lip jutted out. "I think it had rocks in it. Or my nan's cakes.”

William's chest hitched. “Where were you?” he demanded. He found it hard to breathe. “What if Shaye hadn't found you, and-and the Twits caught you? What then? We've risked everything to be here, Rhea. We could have lost you.”

Rhea's face fell, and a hint of pink blossomed on her pale cheeks. “I was grabbing some supplies,” she mumbled.

“That’s not the point!” He felt like he was talking to a child, and it wasn't even Rhea who looked like one.

“She was flirting with the server at the bagel stand,” Shaye interrupted. “Or do you just give Marigolds to everyone?”

Rhea lashed out, shoving Shaye back again. In her small body, she stumbled, looking like a toddler learning to walk. Recovering quickly, Shaye stepped forward but stopped as a shower of green leaves burst from Rhea's palm, striking Shaye in the face.

“We don't have TIME for this!” William growled.

“Ivy, Rhea,” Shaye spluttered, “really?”

Rhea blew Shaye a kiss. “Only the best for you.”

A loud claxon ruptured from the speakers positioned around the airstrip, and after a second of high-pitched whine in his ears, William heard the crackle of a voice speaking through.

"First call for The Zion! First, call for The Zion!"

“That’s us.” William looped his arms through Rhea’s and grabbed Shaye’s tiny hand, both girls on either side. He held them tight. He wouldn't lose either of them again. “Time to go.”

Shaye’s short arm stretched to William's hat. “You look like a canary,” she said.

A shot rang out, and dust splintered off the wall of crates behind them.

William ducked, yanking Rhea and Shaye to the ground. Someone screamed, and a sudden wall of voices cried out. Desperate feet pounded the airstrip, the crowd pushing and shoving, scurrying like a hoard of frenzied ants.

"Was that you?" Rhea gasped, her breath warm against his neck. And when he didn't respond, she added, "Was it them, then?"

"Those bloody Twits," Shaye spat.

Another shot exploded, grazing the wood at William's feet. Rhea extended her arms, and a string of long vines whipped from her palms. They began to twist, interlocking tightly to form a crudely weaved shield.

Regaining his hold, William pulled the two girls up. They ran half-blind, squeezing through each break in the throng of people. The quicker they could make it to The Zion, the saver everyone else on the airstrip would be.

William’s body ached to turn around, to locate the Twits. It longed to reach for his revolver, but with so many panicked people, William didn't want to risk injuring one of them—even with his power.

With the terror below, the guards at the dock hastily waved them through. Rhea retracted her vine shield, and they hurried past the gate, their boots thumping up the metal ramp. The Zion was much the same as the Zeppelin Legendary, the deep maroon balloon greeting William, a long desired hug. The three of them stopped at the door.

Searching the airstrip, William saw no sign of them. The Twits had gone, again.

"That was fun,” Shaye said, her tone slick with jovial sarcasm. “Ready to leave this stink of a country behind?"

William stooped forward, clutching the stitch in his side. Sweat dribbled down his back, and he quickly swallowed the urge to vomit. "With the utmost certainty.” His shaking hand slipped into his waistcoat pocket, the watch metal cold against his skin.

Two minutes. He almost laughed.

"I will miss the bagels," Rhea moped, her face beetroot red.

"There will be more bagels in Nestium."

Rhea slung her bag over her shoulder, and from her outstretched palm grew a Marigold. She offered it to Shaye, who without hesitation slipped it behind her ear. "Suppose.

Looping her arms around William's shoulders, Shaye nudged Rhea forward, and together they headed through the door, determined never to look back.