“I’ll see you around, Sunshine,” he murmured, his lips brushing close enough to send shivers through her.
She wanted to say something back, anything to match the weight of the farewell he gave her. But her throat felt raw, and the words didn’t come. So instead, she just nodded again, silent and painful in its simplicity, hoping he understood more than she could say.
And then, with one last look—a flicker of something unspoken in his gaze—he turned and disappeared down the alley, leaving her staringat the archway.
∞∞∞
The Scholastic District didn’t look like it belonged to the same city.
The air here was strangely fresh, devoid of the usual stench of a bustling city. The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers mingled with the slight hint of magic in the glowing lanterns. Controlled. Elora pulled her cloak tighter, her boots scuffing against cobblestones too smooth for a city that had seen war and rot.
She didn’t belong here.
Everyone knew it, even if they didn’t say it. She caught glances—curious, disdainful, indifferent. Scholars walked past in layered robes stitched with enchanted gold threading, their hair tamed into elegant knots and braids. No dirt under their nails. No callouses on their hands. No blood in their pasts.
Elora kept her head down, ears alert, senses prickling with every step. She couldn’t afford attention.
She paused at the edge of a fountain, her eyes narrowing at a cluster of scholars who seemed locked into some intense—or maybe just painfully boring—discussion by a stone bench. But then she noticed something that caught her attention. One of them—a younger woman, maybe not much older than Elora—stood a little apart from the others, clutching a stack of parchment. She looked like she'd rather swallow nails than be part of the discussion, her eyes darting around like a trapped animal planning a daring escape.
A calculated risk, Elora thought. There was a chance the woman would help her or at least not immediately scream for security. She hesitated, wrestling with the decision, but the gamble felt right. Elora approached slowly, keeping her tone low.
“Excuse me,” she said, trying to sound soft, nonthreatening. “Do you know where the summit’s being held?”
The woman blinked at her, surprised but not alarmed. She glanced down the street and pointed. “That building there,” she said, gesturing to a large stone structure, all white pillars and grand arches. “They should be breaking for lunch soon.”
“Thank you,” Elora murmured, offering a faint smile before turning away.
The alley beside the clock tower offered just enough cover to keep her from prying eyes, but not so much that she’d lose sight of the summit building. She tucked herself against the cool stone wall, arms crossed, heart pounding louder than the steady tick of the gears overhead.
She was close now. Tehvan would be there. He had to be.
The tower bell chimed, a heavy note that vibrated through Elora’s bones and sent a jolt of urgency up her spine. As if sensing her desperation, the summit doors finally swung open. Scholars spilled out in clusters, their voices a low hum of academic self-importance. Elora scanned the crowd, searching for that familiar figure.
“Where are you?” she whispered under her breath.
And then: movement that caught her eye. A man with quiet efficiency weaving through the crowd without drawing a single glance. He had Tehvan's stride, his warm and safepresence. Hope flared in Elora’s chest—wild, reckless hope that pushed her into the open.
She dodged past clusters of robed scholars, her heart in her throat. The man disappeared for a moment behind a group and then reappeared, just ahead of her. She was gaining on him. She called out, but the name caught in her throat, coming out as a desperate, breathless gasp.
The man turned around at the sound, and Elora's heart plummeted. Her feet stumbled to a stop. Not Tehvan. A stranger with dark hair and tired eyes, fixing her with a puzzled look before vanishing into the crowd.
Elora’s shoulders sagged, the world closing in with its damn elegant robes and pristine streets, choking off every ounce of hope she’d let herself feel. She needed air, needed space to think and regroup. She backed away from the building, nearly colliding with a woman who shot her an annoyed look before brushing past.
A young boy, ragged and out of place, stood out like a stain on a white tablecloth. He sprinted through the district, thrusting crumpled papers into the hands of passersby. They barely paused to acknowledge him, flicking the papers away in irritation as he dashed to his next target.
The boy shoved past Elora, nearly knocking her over as he thrust a paper at her. She almost let it flutter to the ground. Almost kept walking, her mind on Tehvan and the damn city that conspired to swallow him whole. But curiosity tugged at her like an annoying little sibling, and she glanced down.
Chapter 44
Rell
The shadows swallowed him again as he slipped back through the alleyways, boots light, thoughts heavier than they had any right to be.
She was safe now. Or safer, anyway. That was the whole damn point.
So why did it feel like he’d just left something vital behind?
The tavern he found was small, grimy, and mercifully quiet. A slanted sign above the door readThe Silver Jug. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and stepped into the warm haze of lamplight and low conversation. The smell of alcohol was strong and lingering, almost a comforting scent amongst the dirt and grime.
