Limitless Evolution As a Snake

Better. Naked scales, dignity intact, mostly.

The pipe network under Twawi Market is a maze I know better than I know my own body at this point, all rust and drip and echo, but I’ve run this route enough times that my body just remembers the turns without me thinking about them. Up through the vertical shaft, along the seam where two pipes never quite lined up right, out onto the exposed beam that runs along the underside of the market’s roofline. Down below, the stalls are already loud with morning noise, fish guys shouting prices, some cat-eared kid screaming about knockoff phone cases, the whole beautiful chaos of Ami doing its thing without any idea an apex predator the size of a chopstick is currently commando-crawling across their ceiling.

I slide along the beam, drop onto the drainpipe, ride it down in a controlled slither-slide that’s honestly kind of fun if I let myself enjoy it, out past the last stall, past the noise, until the market thins out into quiet backstreet, brick walls.

The cop poster, her poster.

I pour myself down the wall, tongue flicking, and there it is, the telltale gap behind the corner where the paper’s peeled just enough to hide a hand-sized tin box wedged into the bricks.

I nose it, wriggle behind, and hook the edge of the tin with the underside of my jaw, dragging it out into the light.

It feels heavy in my grip.

The tin is right where I left it, tucked behind the poster like some kind of budget vending machine. I nudge it open with my nose and slither in for a look.

Dried noodles, a little pack of crackers and a note, folded up small, sitting right on top like she knew I’d come sniffing around eventually.

I nose it open.

Thank you for taking care of that creep. I don’t know how you did it, but I’m grateful, and please stay safe.

— Lyra