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The morning air pierced ice-cold daggers through Josef's threadbare sweater as he followed the girl in black.
Josef wasn't sure if the girl was a member of the Stadtguard, but he kept his eyes trained on the ground like a prisoner being lead to a death sentence. She was not in uniform, he reminded himself. He had heard stories of the Stadtguard dressing as civilians so as not to draw attention to themselves, only Josef could not imagine this girl—woman? (Her age was difficult to discern)—blending into any crowd. She wore a leather jacket, sleek and dark as the feathers of a raven and her hair was twisted into several tight braids. The way she held herself, he thought, was much like a panther, calculating, yet definitive as a shadow.
Josef considered running, but he didn't know if she was armed and wasn't willing to take any chances. He wished he had stayed home today.
"Not much of a talker, are you?" the potential Stadtguard said. She did not look at him as she said it, which somehow felt worse.
Josef did not respond.
They came to a stop at an intersection in the street. They had reached the part of the city where the shops were as bright and adorned as the people that they attracted—well-dressed upper-middle-class people with time and money to burn. Josef dug his thumb self-consciously through one of the holes at the hem of his sweater.
They waited as one of the city's trams trudged and clattered by, and he could feel the curious stares of its passengers on him. He wondered if they could hear his pounding heart through the glass.
As the girl led him across the street Josef's attention was suddenly drawn to her gait, the way she favoured her right leg over her left.
A limp.
The same limp as the Stadtguard from the library.
She had seen them.
Now he really needed to run; run and find another place to hide, another unassuming job in an unassuming city where he wouldn't be found. He could change his name this time, become a new person. Start a new life.
Disappear for good.
But he was stuck, quite literally. His feet were refusing to move and his heart fluttered wildly like a hummingbird caught in the cage of his ribs. Realising he was no longer following her, the girl paused and turned to face Josef.
"What's the hold-up—Hey! Get off the road," she grabbed Josef's arm and tugged him onto the footpath.
He felt numb.
"I am not disposing of a body today so don't try anything stupid-"
Josef blinked. "We've met before."
She smiled. It was a kind of half-smile that was equal parts amusement and impatience.
"He speaks."
Josef didn't know what else to say; his head was spinning with questions. How did she know his name? How had she seen him last night when they had been hidden by the shadows Klaus had summoned? Did she know he was a Magier? That they all were?
"I feel like I should introduce myself properly," she said, holding out her hand. Her nails were bitten short and painted ink black and several rings adorned her fingers. What struck Josef the most, however, was the tattoo that ran along her middle finger; three circles aligned like a vertical ellipsis, all filled in except for the one in the centre, which remained as an outline-an inversion of the other two.
"Ramona Glas," she said. "You're probably wondering why I'm not in uniform." She let her hand fall back to her side now that it was apparent that Josef was not going to shake it. "To be clear, I'm not here to turn you in. I don't have that authority."
Josef hesitated, waiting for the handcuffs, for her to admit she was bluffing. When nothing came, he surrendered his words.
"...You don't?"
The girl—Ramona—smirked in a way that suggested she found this conversation somehow entertaining. "I would have to be a member of the Stadtguard to do that."
The pieces began to fall into place.
"That uniform wasn't yours," Josef concluded.
"Correct. I know it might not seem like it, but I'm on your side, Josef."
Josef held a firm grip on his trust. He wasn't one to give it away haplessly, and Ramona—if that even was her name—was no exception.
"What do you want from me?" he asked because it felt like the best place to start. People were always looking for things, wanting things. Penzförde had taught him that want was what made the world go around.
"An excellent question," Ramona mused, pocketing her hands in her leather jacket, "which I will happily answer once we are someplace safe."
Safe. The word 'safe' belonged in Penzförde as much as the word 'honest' did, which was to say that both had long been removed from the city's vocabulary.
"Nowhere here is safe," Josef muttered.
"You're right," she agreed. "But would you follow me if I told you we were going someplace secluded?"
No, he thought, because it sounded a lot like something someone would say before they skewered you in a dark alley.
In that moment, Josef wished he were Klaus or Daria. Wished he had the steel to refuse or to walk away, or at least ask more questions. Instead, he shook his head and lowered his gaze to the cobbled ground, defeated.
"I have no interest in murdering you, if that makes you feel any better."
Barely, Josef thought. His brother's voice rang out a warning between his thoughts; there are worse fates than death, Sef.
"What will you do if I don't follow you?"
He had meant for this to sound like a challenge, a moment of defiance, but his words lacked any conviction. Ramona gave a humourless laugh.
"No one is making you do anything, thief."
Josef bristled at the word thief.
"But I will warn you," she continued, "if you choose to run away now, you'll find that it will be difficult to stay hidden. We know a lot more about you than you think."
We.
So there were more people that knew his name? What else did they know? The thought twisted like a poison in Josef's gut. Nowhere here is safe.
Ramona continued to walk and did not wait for Josef to follow her.
