Years of brown-nosing experience get Lily up at five AM to make final adjustments to her pack and weigh herself and settle the ten kilos of bullshit payment into the top of her pack just atop her copy of The Slow Regard of Silent Things. A dangerous indulgence, they'd say, taking a book just because she likes it - but it's in her personal allotment and so she doesn't have to justify it to anyone. 

She's carrying for Chicago. She's Canadian, though. Her family had no idea what she was, and then they were dead, and there's no sense in crying about it. She had Rose, and then she didn't, and there's no sense in crying about that either. She is strong enough from the two years with Rose to be useful to Chicago as a combat mage, and her loyalty is as beyond reproach as an outsider can manage, and the combination of those two things means she only has ten pounds of candy and crockery on her back right now and not the entire rest of her weight allowance. She is an investment. Not trusted enough to have a power sharer - she'd never dare ask, and they did not offer - but perhaps a prospect. It's as good as she could have hoped. 

She goes through her mental list. Herself. (47 kilograms.) The care package. (10 kilograms.) And then the results of her scavenging and scraping and working two jobs (one magical, one mundane) for the last four years. 

Three outfits, one belt. One good pair of running shoes. Her athame, spelled as heavily for cutting force as she can manage. The pentacle warding amulet with a single diamond in the center. Her four personal enchanted bracelets, storage blasting warding endurance, the storage one with six glittering gems woven in. (All flawed, but better than glass by a long shot.) Fifteen enchanted woven bracelets to sell on the inside, five each of endurance, shielding and blasting. 

School supplies are dangerous to acquire inside and only cost mundane money and don't weigh much. Four metal rulers, twelve good quality mechanical pencils, two pads graph paper, two journals for her personal use. A good pair of scissors. 

Survival supplies. First aid kit, bottles of Tylenol and aspirin and caffeine pills, a backup knife, two water bottles. Her bracelet-making kit, with spare pairs of pliers and wire cutters and plenty of beads and wire. Her sewing kit, to repair clothes and sew wounds. (It has its own pair of scissors, too.) Ten tubes of superglue both as craft supply and emergency medical gear. Her Japanese flashcards, almost a kilogram and a half in weight but she only has two languages, and she needs to be sure of her second one. 

Her book. (300 grams.) Two sets of polyhedral dice. (100 grams.)

That's all. 

She waits till half an hour before the pickup, then calls her contact with Chicago. 

They don't pick up. Not too unexpected, they have a lot of things on their plate. This is why you leave spare time. She calls back in ten minutes. 

Still no response. 

Another ten minutes. She calls a third time. 

No answer. 

Must be very busy down there. She'll just have to make contact on the inside.

She waits for the tug to come. 

It somehow manages to catch her by surprise.

Years of brown-nosing experience get Lily up at five AM to make final adjustments to her pack and weigh herself and settle the ten kilos of bullshit payment into the top of her pack just atop her copy of The Slow Regard of Silent Things. A dangerous indulgence, they'd say, taking a book just because she likes it - but it's in her personal allotment and so she doesn't have to justify it to anyone. 

She's carrying for Chicago. She's Canadian, though. Her family had no idea what she was, and then they were dead, and there's no sense in crying about it. She had Rose, and then she didn't, and there's no sense in crying about that either. She is strong enough from the two years with Rose to be useful to Chicago as a combat mage, and her loyalty is as beyond reproach as an outsider can manage, and the combination of those two things means she only has ten pounds of candy and crockery on her back right now and not the entire rest of her weight allowance. She is an investment. Not trusted enough to have a power sharer - she'd never dare ask, and they did not offer - but perhaps a prospect. It's as good as she could have hoped. 

She goes through her mental list. Herself. (47 kilograms.) The care package. (10 kilograms.) And then the results of her scavenging and scraping and working two jobs (one magical, one mundane) for the last four years. 

Three outfits, one belt. One good pair of running shoes. Her athame, spelled as heavily for cutting force as she can manage. The pentacle warding amulet with a single diamond in the center. Her four personal enchanted bracelets, storage blasting warding endurance, the storage one with six glittering gems woven in. (All flawed, but better than glass by a long shot.) Fifteen enchanted woven bracelets to sell on the inside, five each of endurance, shielding and blasting. 

School supplies are dangerous to acquire inside and only cost mundane money and don't weigh much. Four metal rulers, twelve good quality mechanical pencils, two pads graph paper, two journals for her personal use. A good pair of scissors. 

Survival supplies. First aid kit, bottles of Tylenol and aspirin and caffeine pills, a backup knife, two water bottles. Her bracelet-making kit, with spare pairs of pliers and wire cutters and plenty of beads and wire. Her sewing kit, to repair clothes and sew wounds. (It has its own pair of scissors, too.) Ten tubes of superglue both as craft supply and emergency medical gear. Her Japanese flashcards, almost a kilogram and a half in weight but she only has three languages, and she needs to be sure of her third one. 

Her book. (300 grams.) Two sets of polyhedral dice. (100 grams.)

That's all. 

She waits till half an hour before the pickup, then calls her contact with Chicago. 

They don't pick up. Not too unexpected, they have a lot of things on their plate. This is why you leave spare time. She calls back in ten minutes. 

Still no response. 

Another ten minutes. She calls a third time. 

No answer. 

Must be very busy down there. She'll just have to make contact on the inside.

She waits for the tug to come. 

It somehow manages to catch her by surprise.

Years of brown-nosing experience get Lily up at five AM to make final adjustments to her pack and weigh herself and settle the ten kilos of bullshit payment into the top of her pack just atop her copy of The Slow Regard of Silent Things. A dangerous indulgence, they'd say, taking a book just because she likes it - but it's in her personal allotment and so she doesn't have to justify it to anyone. 

She's carrying for Chicago. She's Canadian, though. Her family had no idea what she was, and then they were dead, and there's no sense in crying about it. She had Rose, and then she didn't, and there's no sense in crying about that either. She is strong enough from the two years with Rose to be useful to Chicago as a combat mage, and her loyalty is as beyond reproach as an outsider can manage, and the combination of those two things means she only has ten pounds of candy and crockery on her back right now and not the entire rest of her weight allowance. She is an investment. Not trusted enough to have a power sharer - she'd never dare ask, and they did not offer - but perhaps a prospect. It's as good as she could have hoped. 

She goes through her mental list. Herself. (47 kilograms.) The care package. (10 kilograms.) And then the results of her scavenging and scraping and working two jobs (one magical, one mundane) for the last four years. 

Three outfits, one belt. One good pair of running shoes. Her athame, spelled as heavily for cutting force as she can manage. The pentacle warding amulet with a single diamond in the center. Her four personal enchanted bracelets, storage blasting warding endurance, the storage one with six glittering gems woven in. (All flawed, but better than glass by a long shot.) Fifteen enchanted woven bracelets to sell on the inside, five each of endurance, shielding and blasting. 

School supplies are dangerous to acquire inside and only cost mundane money and don't weigh much. Four metal rulers, twelve good quality mechanical pencils, two pads graph paper, two journals for her personal use. A good pair of scissors. 

Survival supplies. First aid kit, bottles of Tylenol and aspirin and caffeine pills, a backup knife, two water bottles. Her bracelet-making kit, with spare pairs of pliers and wire cutters and plenty of beads and wire. Her sewing kit, to repair clothes and sew wounds. (It has its own pair of scissors, too.) Ten tubes of superglue both as craft supply and emergency medical gear. Her Mandarin flashcards, almost a kilogram and a half in weight but she only has three languages, and she needs to be sure of her third one. 

Her book. (300 grams.) Two sets of polyhedral dice. (100 grams.)

That's all. 

She waits till half an hour before the pickup, then calls her contact with Chicago. 

They don't pick up. Not too unexpected, they have a lot of things on their plate. This is why you leave spare time. She calls back in ten minutes. 

Still no response. 

Another ten minutes. She calls a third time. 

No answer. 

Must be very busy down there. She'll just have to make contact on the inside.

She waits for the tug to come. 

It somehow manages to catch her by surprise.