The sun beat down relentlessly on the bustling capital, a cacophony of vendors' cries and distant cheers. Penelope, thin and grimy in her ill-fitting boy's clothes, pressed herself against a shadowed wall, her gaze fixed on the triumphant procession. General Cain, the war hero, paraded through the adoring crowds, his booming voice echoing promises of a better future. But to Penelope, he was a monster.

A week ago, a memory clawed at her mind—a slave girl, brutalized, then dead, a 'suicide' conveniently swept under the rug. Penelope knew better. The streets had taught her harsh truths, and her instincts, honed by a lifetime of survival, screamed that Cain was a viper in a hero's skin.

“Watch where you are going, Fly!” A shove sent her stumbling, a bully's taunt. Penelope glared, then averted her eyes, a familiar knot of frustration tightening in her stomach. She was a girl, hiding in plain sight, and drawing attention was a death sentence. She couldn't afford to be seen, to be known, not by anyone.

Her stomach growled, a constant companion. She moved, slipping through the fringes of the crowd, until she overheard two gushing girls speak of the Golden Raven, her father's symbol. Then, just as suddenly, an old man, cane adorned with that very emblem, moved against the flow, whispering about the new Prime Minister, Cain, and his dangerous plans.