“Shelter,” he says. “Temporary.”
“And the exit?” I ask.
His jaw tightens. “We make one if we have to.”
I don’t like that answer, but I don’t argue. Not when my ankle throbs with every step. Not when the weight of unseen eyes presses in from all sides.
We move again, deeper into the maze. The buildings crowd closer, their upper levels nearly touching in places, creating long ribbons of shadow that feel too deliberate to be coincidence.
I catch movement again. This time I’m sure of it.
A silhouette along a rooftop. Gone before I can point it out.
My pulse spikes. I glance at Korr. He’s seen it too. Our eyes meet for a fraction of a second. There’s no panic in his gaze. Only resolve. Whatever this is, he’s already chosen a course.
I realize something else with unsettling clarity. We’re not being hunted. We’re being guided. Toward something they’ve already chosen.
We turn. He’s leading us down side roads now. Into alleys to cut from one wider thoroughfare to the next. My heart is beating faster. I keep turning, looking in every direction. trying to see who or what is following us.
“There,” I whisper, eyes darting up and to the right.
Korr grunts, not turning to look. It’s acknowledgement enough that he saw the shadow too. Illadon’s right hand drifts to the small lochaber on his back.
“No,” Korr says, “not yet.” Illadon huffs. “When they come, you protect her. Get her away. Understood?”
Illadon jerks his head up to Korr. His eyes are wide and his mouth is open, but it’s only an instant before he snaps his mouthshut so hard its audible. His shoulders square and he nods sharply, looking at Rverre.
My heart breaks. He’s barely begun his teen years, yet he takes on the responsibility of life and death easily. Naturally. It shouldn’t be.
The alley ends where it shouldn’t.
I know it the moment we turn the last corner. The geometry is wrong. Too clean. Too intentional. What should have opened back into a wider street instead narrows sharply, hemmed in by two leaning structures whose upper floors almost kiss overhead. Broken windows stare down at us like empty sockets.
A cul-de-sac made of stone and shadow.
Korr stops, cursing under his breath. Illadon reacts a heartbeat later, shifting Rverre behind him without being told. I catch myself doing the same, angling my body despite the flare of pain in my ankle. Muscle memory doesn’t care about injury.
“We’re boxed,” Illadon murmurs.
“Yes,” Korr says. His voice is calm. Too calm. “But not trapped yet.”
I scan upward, ignoring the way my ankle protests. The rooftops loom close, broken ledges, half-collapsed overhangs that would make movement above us easy for anyone who knew the paths.
“Rverre,” I whisper. “How many?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Her wings flex once, tight and controlled. Her chin lifts, eyes unfocusing as if she’s listening to something below sound.
“They were already here,” she says softly. “We didn’t bring them. We just… stepped into the middle.”
That’s when the first shadow detaches from the roofline.
It lands with a heavy thud that echoes down the alley as a massive figure hits the ground behind us, wings snapping open just long enough to break the fall before folding tight. Zmaj. No mistaking it. Tall, horned, scales that catch the low light in dull flashes.
Another lands opposite him, cutting off the way forward. Neither raises a weapon. That’s worse.
I hear movement above us coming from multiple points. The scrape of claws on stone. The soft rustle of wings adjusting position. I force myself not to look straight up, tracking instead with peripheral vision.
Silhouettes line the rooftops. Watching.
