He kept walking. "We’re barely surviving as it is. We can’t save them—not without dying ourselves."
The words stung, even if they were true. I pulled my cloak tighter, helplessness settling over my shoulders like a second skin.
A shadow moved at the edge of the stalls—slow, deliberate—tracking us.
Alaric’s hand brushed my arm in a subtle, grounding touch. He leaned in, voice low and firm.
"Don't let them see your anger," he murmured. "They feed on it here."
His fingers curled briefly around mine, warm despite the chill sinking into my bones.
Alaric pulled me forward, and I followed.
Running was hard—my legs still unfamiliar, unsteady beneath me. The uneven stone tried to trip me with every step. Alaric’s grip on my hand never wavered, keeping me upright, keeping me moving.
We tore through twisting streets, boots slamming stone. The figures behind us moved fast.
The city moved with them—alleys narrowing, shadows closing ranks. Shadeau didn’t just permit the hunt.
It participated.
And I knew—brutally—that if we fell, no one would intervene.
We veered into an alley, swallowed by choking dark. My shoulder clipped rough stone, pain jolting through me, but Icouldn’t stop. Somewhere behind us, a low voice barked orders, and pounding feet grew louder.
Suddenly, Alaric yanked me sideways. I stumbled, and we shoved through the door of a narrow shop wedged between two buildings.
The threshold pulsed as we crossed it—a faint ripple of magic brushing my skin.
Inside, candles flared once, then steadied. The air was heavy with jasmine, charred resin, and brine—with a thin undercurrent of cold metal and something dry and stale, like old paper left too long in the dark.
A shelf toppled from the impact; glass vials shattered across the floor. Smoke from crushed herbs drifted upward.
I coughed, eyes watering, while Alaric slammed the door shut and braced against it, waiting for something to follow.
Symbols carved into the beams glowed faintly. A low hum vibrated through the room, and the shadows on the walls shifted in small, precise movements.
We slowed—laughing, just a little, at the insanity of it.
The danger hadn’t passed. We’d only slipped into the eye of the storm. A pause, not a refuge. Safety here came in borrowed moments—stolen between disasters. I was learning those things always demanded repayment.
I turned to Alaric, still shaken, about to speak.
But something in the way he looked at me—wild-eyed, a touch of wonder softening the harsh angles of his face—stilled the words in my throat. I had to tilt my chin to meet his gaze properly, the height difference suddenly immense in the narrow space between us.
Then his mouth brushed my ear, voice low and laced with amusement. "Keep looking at me like that, and I might think you actually enjoy my company."
Heat unfurled in my chest—low and insistent—curling through my limbs like flame. I tried to shove him away, rolling my eyes, but the smirk on his face told me he’d seen straight through me.
I nudged him with my elbow. "Don’t flatter yourself. The fumes in here are clearly messing with your head."
He smirked, pleased with himself.
Then he glanced past me. His expression shuttered.
And just like that, the moment broke.
I turned—and the laughter died on my lips.
