As he moves away, I watch the firelight catch on the lines of his back, the controlled economy of his steps. He doesn’t pace or hover. He simply exists in the space like it belongs to him—like he’s already decided where the edges are and what must be protected.
The city looms around us, silent and patient, stone and shadow holding its breath.
I settle where he told me to, feeling the ache in my ankle throb in time with my pulse. I should be afraid. Of the city. Of the dark. Of whatever might be lurking in places like this.
Instead, all I can think is how dangerous it is to feel this safe.
The fire burns low, more suggestion than flame. Just enough light to soften the stone without throwing shadows too far.
Illadon settles quickly, exhaustion winning out once he knows Korr is watching. Rverre curls in near the wall, wings tucked tight, breath evening out as if the stone itself has convinced her it will hold. I envy them both.
Korr moves quietly, checking sightlines, listening to the way sound travels through the broken structure. When he finally returns to me, it’s not with ceremony. He crouches a careful distance away, movements deliberate, respectful.
“You’ll need to elevate it,” he says softly.
I stiffen out of reflex. “I’m fine.”
He doesn’t argue, reaching for my pack. He pulls out a folded length of fabric, rolling it into a firm support before setting it near my leg.
“If you are,” he says evenly, “this will still help.”
I exhale and allow him to slide it beneath my ankle, the pressure easing enough to steal a quiet sound from my throat. I clamp my mouth shut to stop it but he notices anyway. His hand stills for half a breath, hovering, then withdraws. Silence settles between us, heavier than before. It’s not awkward, but it is loaded.
“This place,” I say, because not speaking feels worse. “It feels… intact. Under the damage.”
“Yes,” he replies. “Cities remember how to hold people. Long after the people leave.”
I glance around the fractured room, the half-walls and open ceilings, the sense of space that used to be enclosed and safe.
“Do you think it will hold us?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is quieter than before.
“For the night,” he says. “That’s enough.”
I nod, swallowing past something tight in my chest. He rises to take his watch position, but I stop him without thinking.
“Korr.”
He turns back instantly.
“If you’re going to stand there all night,” I say, gesturing vaguely, “you’ll burn yourself out.”
A corner of his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile.
“I won’t.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion.” That earns me a longer look. Something assessing. Something careful. “Sit,” I add, softer, “please.”
After a moment, he does. Not beside me. Close enough that the firelight touches both of us. Far enough that neither of us can pretend it’s accidental. We sit listening to the city breathe.
“This isn’t how I imagined finding it,” I admit.
“No,” he says. “But it rarely is.”
I pick at the edge of my sleeve, nerves fraying.
“You’re very… certain. About all of this.”
