//prologue//

Never trust the pale boy in the shadows. Don't trust anyone. Don't trust yourself.

        As dusk fell to night, the moon hidden behind storm-gray clouds, the criminals of the city appeared. Hunting, preying, watching their next targets; the runaway rich kids, the lost tourists, the easily manipulated new kids.

        The best criminals, though, stayed up during the day, when dirty streets were full of unsuspecting tourists and kids who thought they could get away with blending into the crowd. The best of the city's forsaken were known as Deviants - those who deviated from the path of the Saints', those who be accepted into no afterlife.

        A snow pale boy with sunken gray eyes slunk between the shadows, eyeing those who were dumb enough to walk near him. Didn't they know who he was?

        With a bored sigh, he removed the silver butterfly knife from his boot, where it'd been unconcealed and meant to draw attention - and fear. He knew these streets like he knew his name, and he knew protection was a must. He twirled the knife between his fingers, tossing and spinning it to shine in the dim moonlight. It was enough to make the other undesirables stay away from him, despite them likely being up to even more undesirable business than himself.

        The glimmering knife kept him entertained for a long while, wandering around the streets as if he was one of the lost runaways himself, who didn't know anything beyond the confines of their old home. But he did. He knew exactly where he was going; he was just making it confusing for anyone stupid enough to follow him, give them the chance to give up and go home before anyone got hurt.

        "Wandering again?" The pale boy heard from in front of him, spoken by a slightly shorter dirty blond boy leaning against the grimy brick wall of a long-since closed dive bar. The other boy was in a leather jacket, and black jeans that were practically hanging off his hips - like they were supposed to, the pale boy guessed.

        The pale boy simply nodded in response, not trusting the vocal cords he hadn't used in two weeks, and set the butterfly knife in his back pocket.

        The blond boy seemed to anticipate his reaction and quickly pulled the pale boy's arm before he could walk away. The pale boy knew he could escape if he wanted to, but he made no move. "You really should stop doing that. Nobody's seen you in two weeks."

        "Obviously." It was nearly impossible to hear, though that was manly because the pale boy would not show weakness to anyone in the form of a cracking voice. People associated him with quiet, anyway. He didn't add anything to the statement.

        "A lot has happened while you were gone."

        "Oh?"

        "Kaisla Caster seems to have some news for you."