We round the stall, and the noise sharpens into shape. Strannt has a merchant by the throat, fist knotted in the man’s collar, slamming him back against a Spice stall. Glass jars rattle, a crate tips, golden powder spills across the stone like sunlight shattered.
But unlike the fishmonger, this one isn’t cowering. He’s fighting back—voice raised, eyes bright with fury, and Strannt’s weaselly eyes look one twitch away from snapping and releasing his Threads.
Nearby, Lucien stands with Rowan and the others, one arm folded across his chest while the other fiddles with the stone around his neck. A faint smile plays on his lips as he watches the chaos unfold.
Talen stops next to him but his hand stays locked on mine. Too tight, too obvious. Beth’s already turning, Ryven’s and Elijah’s eyes find me next.Shit. I yank once, nothing. I yank again, harder this time; but Talen doesn't flinch or even look my way, his grip just tightens. And with it, the pressure builds, magic pressing up under my ribs.
Fuck, I want him off, I need him off—before Beth or Ryven start thinking I’m someone who gets dragged around. Before I can’t keep the lid on my Threads.
“Luc, what the fuck is this?” Talen shouts over the commotion. “Why the hell aren’t you stepping in?”
Lucien lifts a brow, gaze still fixed ahead.
“Thought about it,” he says, tone flat. “Then the merchant started fighting back. Got interesting.” Lucien turns, gaze dropping to Talen’s grip on my hand, a smile spreads. “Well, look at that. Didn’t peg you two for the hand-holding type...”
Heat flares in my face, anger, not embarrassment. At least, that’s what I tell myself. I yank my arm again, fast and rough and this time, Talen lets go.
For a beat, Lucien holds his stare, grin twitching wider—then nods back to the fight, voice louder this time. “Says it’s our fault his assistant didn’t show up for work this week.”
“Itisyour fault!” The merchant snarls, spit flying as Strannt pins him against the cart. “One minute he’s here. Working, minding his own business, and the next, you white-cloaked Citadel guards drag him off like he’s nothing!”
Beside me Talen stiffens, muttering something under his breath then pulls Lucien aside. I don’t wait, I swing my pack around, fingers slipping inside just enough to brush the duck,just enough to calm the storm that's brewing beneath my skin. The relief is instant. Blissful even. Jaw unclenches, shoulders drop and the pressure eases.
I mean to hold on longer, but then I feel it, eyes on me. Talen. Lucien’s still at his side, talking, but he’s not listening. His gaze catches mine, then drops to the pack. I shove it back over my shoulder, too fast, not casual. His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say a word. Then a shout cuts through the air, and both our heads snap toward it.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to find good,loyalworkers anymore? Ones who actually stay?” The merchant yells.
Strannt doesn’t hesitate. Open palm, full force, he slaps the merchant across the face, hard. The crack splits the air as the man’s head whips sideways.
“Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to.” Strannt sneers back, too loud, like he’s enjoying the sound of his own authority. “If he was taken, there’s a reason. Probably a traitor to the Treaty.”
But still the merchant doesn’t back down, just stares straight into Strannt’s face and spits. A collective breath holds across the growing crowd, more footsteps, more bodies edging closer.
A tight hitch catches in my chest as Strannt goes still. No shouting, just a slow smile creeping across his face, thin and vicious.
“Oh, you’re going to regret that,” he murmurs as Threads start to flicker at his fingertips, dark and volatile, warping the air around him. He draws his arm back, one second from breaking bone?—
Then, suddenly, a hand snaps around his wrist, stopping the swing mid-air, fast and brutal.
“That’s enough.” Talen’s voice echoes through the square like thunder.Strannt shifts, but Talen doesn’t let go, doesn’t blink. Just stares him down, grip locked tight between them as he stepsin closer. “He's not worth our time. We've got better things to waste our energy on.”
Tension bleeds between them as Strannt’s weaselly eyes flick to Talen, narrowing. One arm caught in his grip, the other still knotted in the merchant’s collar.
Threads hum beneath his skin, chest rising too fast, jaw clenched tight and for a second I think Strannt’s going to do it—ignore the warning, drive the strike through anyway—but Talen doesn’t look away, just hardens that cold, steel-edged stare.
Strannt holds it a beat longer before his mouth twists. ‘Fine,’ he mutters at last, barely audible, and Talen drops him without a word. Strannt storms off, shoving through the patrol, fury in every step. He keeps walking, crossing the square in a straight line of rage, his boot kicking into a crate of apples as he passes. Wood cracks and fruit explodes across the stone—bouncing and bruising as it scatters.
No one moves.
Ryven stands with Elijah, Beth hovers near Lucien, and Rowan’s slipped back to my side, silent and watchful. None of them seem to know what to make of it, hell, I don’t know what to make of it.
Talen stopped him... stepped in just in time, like he was doing the right thing. Why would he do that?
My brows pinch before I catch myself as my gaze drags from the square, where Strannt is still kicking an apple like it owes him, back to Talen.
He’s facing the merchant now, jaw tight, and whatever flicker of concern I thought I saw, thought I heard, is gone, replaced by something much colder.
“You know who I am?” Talen demands.
