Adran exchanges looks with one of the Zmaj. This one has remained quiet throughout, but there is an air about him. A quiet commanding of presence that doesn’t need to be stated. He nods, slowly and Adran exhales in response.
“Then you will stay,” Adran says. “For now. You will eat with us. Speak with us. And we will decide what this truth means for our city.”
Korr shifts closer without touching me. A presence like a wall at my back.
“Very well,” I say.
Somewhere deeper inside the building, a door opens. Footsteps echo across the stone. Measured. Familiar. My breath catches before my thoughts can catch up. I know that cadence.
And in that instant, I understand exactly how this city intends to test us next.
29
TALIA
Iknow him before I see his face.
It’s not recognition in the dramatic sense. There’s no rush of memory or sharp intake of breath. It’s simpler than that. A subtle tightening beneath my ribs. A quiet, unwelcome familiarity settling into place like a key sliding into an old lock.
He steps into the open space between the columns, boots scuffing softly against stone. He’s thinner than I remember. Older, in a way that has nothing to do with years. His hair has gone mostly gray at the temples, pulled back in the same practical tie he always favored. His clothes are patched, utilitarian. Survivor’s clothing.
He stops when he sees me.
The moment stretches. Not because anyone forces it to, but because neither of us knows how to shorten it without cutting something vital.
“Talia,” he says.
My name sounds strange in his mouth. Not wrong. Just… unused.
I don’t answer. I don’t trust my voice.
Around us, the city survivors pretend not to watch. They’re terrible at it. Everyone feels the shift even if they don’t know why. He takes a step forward, then stops himself, as if remembering old boundaries too late.
“I heard there were new arrivals,” he says. “Didn’t think—” He exhales. “Didn’t think it would be you.”
I nod once. It’s all I can manage.
His eyes flick down to my ankle, the careful way I’m standing. Then back up. He always noticed things like that. The practical details. The visible weaknesses. I hate that it still works.
“You look…” He trails off, searching for a word that won’t offend. “Different.”
“So do you,” I say. My voice is steadier than I expect.
He gives a short, humorless huff. “Yeah. I suppose I do.”
Silence presses in again, heavy with things neither of us will say out loud. Not here. Not in front of witnesses. Not when there are too many old ghosts standing between us.
“I didn’t know you survived,” I add.
“I didn’t know anyone did,” he replies. “Not from that section of the ship.”
For a moment, I see it clearly. The years he spent believing I was dead. The grief he must have folded into himself and carriedforward like a scar. And still it doesn’t matter. He left. That was his choice.
My ankle shifts. Pain flares sharp and bright, dragging me back into my body. I hiss before I can stop myself. Before I can adjust, Korr is there.
He doesn’t step between us. He doesn’t bare his teeth or reach for a weapon. He simply moves close enough that I feel the solid heat of him at my side. One hand settles at my lower back. Not possessive. Not claiming. Supportive.
The contact steadies me as I redistribute my weight. The pain eases from sharp to manageable. More than that, the room feels… balanced again. Korr doesn’t look at the man in front of us right away. His attention stays on me.
