“You’re hurting,” I say quietly.
“I’m functional,” she replies, just as quietly.
A lie we both recognize. Illadon’s gaze flicks between us, then outward again.
“We should pull back.”
“No,” Rverre says.
She straightens, wings flaring slightly before she reins them in.
“They’re deciding,” she adds. “Leaving now would… answer the wrong question.”
“What question?” Illadon asks.
Rverre swallows. “Whether we’re prey.”
The air shifts and I hear it then. The faintest scrape of stone against stone. Too deliberate to be collapse. Too controlled to be natural. I lift my hand slowly, signaling silence.
From the corners of my vision, shapes detach from shadow. High ground. Low ground. Behind broken facades. On elevated walkways I didn’t see until now.
They aren’t rushing. They’re closing. A ring tightening by degrees, careful not to announce itself too soon. Talia’s breath catches. Illadon’s grip tightens on his weapon. Rverre goes very still.
I step half a pace in front of them, widening my stance, counting exits even as they disappear. They aren’t attacking, yet, but we are no longer alone.
26
TALIA
Sound seems muffled.
That’s the first thing that feels wrong.
If this place were empty, it should echo. If it were dangerous in the obvious way, something would announce itself. Noise. Movement. Even decay has a kind of sound. But as we move deeper between the broken facades, the city seems to fold its attention inward instead of outward, as if it’s decided to observe rather than react.
Korr leads us along a wider corridor where two streets once intersected, now half-buried beneath drifted sand and fallen stone. He chooses routes with long sightlines, places where nothing can approach unseen. I understand the instinct. It’s the same one that kept him alive before he ever met us.
It doesn’t help here.
The buildings rise higher the farther in we go, their upper levels fractured but intact enough to create layers of shadow that don’t behave properly. Darkness doesn’t pool the way it should. It clings. Shifts. Slides when no wind touches it.
I feel it before I can name it. That familiar tightening at the base of my skull. The sensation of being watched. There is no doubt left in my mind that we are not alone.
Korr slows, just a fraction. It’s not enough to draw comment, but enough that I notice. His awareness is flared wide, every sense stretched thin. He’s listening for sound, scanning for movement, reading the ground for signs of recent passage. If he sees anything, I don’t know what it is. Frustration makes me feel itchy and impatient.
Illadon drifts closer to Rverre, their shoulders nearly brushing. She hasn’t hummed since we crossed into the denser district. Her wings stay tight to her back, posture drawn inward as if she’s bracing against pressure only she can feel.
“Do you hear anything?” Illadon murmurs.
Rverre shakes her head. “No.”
My ankle protests as the ground slopes unevenly, a sharp reminder that my body is not keeping pace with my will. I adjust automatically, redistributing weight, shortening my stride. Korr notices, even though he doesn’t look back or comment. Instead he eases the pace by a hair, matching me without calling attention to it.
I feel relief, which I hate as much as the pain. I shouldn’t need such special consideration. He shouldn’t notice so much. He shouldn’t keep showing up when I know he won’t…
Stop it. No. This is now. He’s here and we’re in trouble.
We pass what might once have been a market strip. Low structures that are clustered together, their interiors stripped clean but not destroyed. Doorways widened deliberately.Support beams reinforced rather than scavenged. This wasn’t panic. This was preparation.
