Now I’mmarching for the same system that bled us dry, wrapped in their colours, pretending I belong.
What a joke.
Air catches in my throat, tight and bitter. Lucien’s behind me, I can feel him. That stare. Heavy and constant, like it’s crawling up my spine.
I just want to be back home, over that wall, away from his eyes, and out of this goddamn white uniform.
But wanting doesn’t change anything.
My fingers curl tight around the strap of my pack. Three more weeks, stay in control. Avoid attention. That’s the plan. That's the deal. That’s the only way through, to leave with the journalsalive.
“Keep up,” Strannt snaps from up front as Ryven drags his feet beside him, shoulders hunched under the weight of a crate of cabbages, of all things.
At least I don’t have to worry about Ryven today. Strannt’s made him the group mule—loaded with gear, reports, and produce like this is some sad market run. You can tell he’s one second from losing it, but his jaw stays locked tight. Too proud to complain, too smart to push back.
Just behind them is Beth, she’s clearly enjoying the show, but she keeps glancing back at me with that same cold and dismissive look.
What the hell is her problem? We’ve barely spoken, and somehow she’s already decided I’m the enemy.
Elijah tries to be more subtle, but I still catch the quick side-eyes. Not constant, just enough to make it clear I’m on his list for god knows what, too. Maybe just existing...
One of Ryven’s cabbages slips loose, hitting the ground with a wet thud. He stoops to grab it, face flushed, beside me Rowan snorts under his breath like it’s the funniest thing he’s seen all week.
A woman in silk sidesteps it and dips her chin as we pass, elegant, practiced. Not fear, more approval. Like we’reornaments in some parade she helped fund. A few passing men do the same, tailored coats, polished shoes, eyes bright with admiration.
But not all of them are so nice.
Further down, a one-armed baker—his right sleeve pinned tight against the stump—keeps his gaze narrow and locked on me, shoulders stiff. Not fear in his eyes, not awe either. Just quiet, deliberate contempt.
I know, because I know that look. I’ve worn it more times than I can count.
Only now, I’m the one it’s aimed at.
My throat pulls tight, like I’ve swallowed glass. Shoulders hitch a fraction before I force them level again, like my posture alone can defend against what I’m wearing.
I want to tear this uniform off, scream that it’s not me. But I don’t, I can’t, because the second I flinch, the second I break patrol—Lucien will see it.
So I lock it down, pull the reaction tight inside me, and keep walking.
As we turn down a narrow side street my boot catches on something soft. Tattered flyers litter the cobblestones, scattered like the autumn leaves. Rowan bends to pick one up, expression unreadable as he turns it over in his hands.
SUSPICIOUS BEHAVIOUR?
LOYAL CITIZENS REPORT.
THE CITADEL PROTECTS.
No whisper goes unheard. No act unseen.
Rowans eyes flick to mine and for a second, I swear he looks exactly how I feel—like he’s not buying this bullshit either. Butit’s gone too fast to be sure. Whatever was there, vanishing, but he still holds my gaze.
“So, you mentioned your mum before,” he notes as we pause outside a fishmonger’s stall, where Strannt has planted himself—circling, demanding permits, sniffing fish like a weasel that smells treason under the ice. “But what about your dad? He never tried to keep you out of this?”
Behind us, Lucien exhales hard and drops on to a nearby barrel. One hand grips the stone at his neck, thumb dragging over the edge in slow, restless loops. Not idle. Not calm. Just pressure building, louder with every second Strannt fucks around.
Turning back to Rowan, he’s still looking at me, I swallow hard, and for a second, I don’t know what to say. I hadn’t meant to share that much after the Demonstration, I was a total emotional mess. Hell, I nearly told them about the fire...
If I share too much, I risk making myself vulnerable. But if I don’t, I could lose potential allies. And Rowan, there’s something about him. The way he watches without prying, just quiet and curious. Pale skin, white-blond hair falling into his eyes, soft in a way that reminds me of Ezzy. Maybe it’s stupid but I don’t pull away.
