“They do,” I manage, finding my voice. “The gray is... new.”
“I like it.” Marina pronounces this with the certainty of someone who’s decided something is true and won’t be swayed. “It’s like storm clouds. Pretty.”
She scampers off before I can respond, leaving me staring after her.
“That was Marina,” Torin says unnecessarily. “Her parents died in the flood three years ago. She’s being raised by the community.”
The flood. Caspian’s children. The grief that drove him to madness. I’m looking at another casualty of that tragedy—a child who lost everything and yet still sees beauty in storm-gray feathers.
How do I negotiate with that kind of pain? How do I bridge a gap built on bodies and broken promises?
We continue through the upper city. More Deep Runners notice us—notice me—and word spreads like ripples across water. By the time we reach the grand plaza, a small crowd has gathered. Watching. Whispering. Not hostile, exactly, but wary.
Torin’s hand finds mine, and I let him take it. Let everyone see. The bond thrums with his nervous determination.
“They’re staring,” I murmur.
“They’re curious.” But he sounds uncertain. “Most of them have never seen a Sky-dweller in person. And you’re—” He gestures vaguely. “Different. Changed. They can see it.”
Right. The storm-gray feathers. The way lightning crackles faintly along my skin. The visible proof that something unprecedented has happened.
I straighten my spine, lifting my chin. Diplomat mode. Project confidence even when terrified. I’ve walked into hostile rooms before. I can do this.
But as we cross the plaza toward what looks like a council building, reality sinks in with crushing weight.
These people’s survival depends on me. Not just negotiating peace. Not just opening borders. But doing it in a way that preserves who they are. That honors their fear and grief and stubborn pride. That gives them a reason to trust a surface world that’s given them nothing but pain.
And if I fail—if I can’t find the words, can’t bridge the gap, can’t make the High Elder see possibility instead of threat—then Torin is doomed. He brought me here against orders. Saved my life. Committed treason by choosing me over his people.
If I can’t negotiate peace, they’ll punish him for it. Outcast him at best. Imprison him at worst. And the bond means his pain would be mine, his isolation would destroy us both.
I can’t let that happen.
“Torin.” I stop walking, pulling him to a halt. “Before we go in. Before we face the High Elder. I need you to promise me something.”
His eyes search mine. “What?”
“When we’re in there—when we’re explaining what happened—let me do the talking.”
“Zara—”
“Please.” I grip his hand tighter. “I’m a diplomat. It’s what I do. And I need—” My voice cracks slightly. “I need to protect you the way you protected me.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes. And denial. “No. You’re not taking the blame for?—”
“I’m not taking blame. I’m taking responsibility for my choices.” I stand on my toes to kiss him softly. “Trust me. Please.”
He looks torn. The bond carries his conflict—wanting to shield me, knowing I’m capable, hating that this is necessary at all.
“Together,” he finally says. “We face this together. But Zara—” His jaw tightens. “Don’t sacrifice yourself for me. Promise me that. Whatever you’re planning, whatever diplomatic angle you’re working—don’t throw yourself on a pyre to save me.”
I can’t promise that. Won’t lie to him. So I just kiss him again and pull him toward the council building.
Inside, I start formulating the lie I’ll need to tell. The story that might save him. The sacrifice that might preserve what we’ve built.
When we face the High Elder, I’ll claim I manipulated him. That I used the bond to seduce him, to twist his judgment, to make him believe he was choosing when really he was being controlled. I’ll play the seductress, the Sky Witch, the dangerous outsider who corrupted an honorable Sentinel.
I’ll give Torin a way out—a narrative where he’s the victim, not the traitor. Where his people can forgive him, welcome him back, let him remain who he was.
