I hold her one breath longer. Only one. Then I carry her into the waiting hands of the City and let the next pain begin.
27
SERA
The City takes one look at me and starts counting.
Not numbers. Worse. Uses.
Blood on my arm. Blue light under the bandage. Kavor carrying me out of the broken lower passage like I’m precious, breakable, and already halfway claimed by disaster.
The proof bundles somewhere above us. Epis whispers through the cistern access like a spark finding dry root. People turn as Kavor steps into the torchlight.
I feel the room change.
Fear first. Then relief. Then hunger. Always hunger.
“Sera!”
Ila reaches us before anyone else, shoving past Penr, Virn, two guards, and one startled Zmaj with the kind of focused violence that makes people remember they have other places to stand.
Her hands hover over me but do not grab. She sees Kavor’s arms. Sees my face. Sees the blood. Sees the glow under the bandageand the way I’m trying to tuck it against my ribs without making it obvious.
Which means it’s obvious. Terrible woman.
“You’re alive,” she says.
“Mostly.”
Her mouth tightens. “I hate that answer.”
“Then ask better questions.”
Kavor’s chest shifts against my side. Not quite a laugh. Something close enough to hurt. I hate that too. No. I don’t. That’s the problem.
Virn stands just behind Ila with the proof harness clutched against his chest. His wings are half-spread, making him look larger than usual, more dangerous, more aware of every eye turning toward what he carries. Good. He still has it.
Rosalind arrives behind him, moving fast despite the crowd. Her face is pale and hard, the old commander looking through the exhausted woman. She sees Virn, the bundles, Kavor, me, and the collapse behind us in less than a breath. Then she looks at my arm.
“Get her to the west chamber,” Rosalind says.
Adran’s voice cuts in from the far side. “No.”
There it is. One word, polished flat. The room holds its breath. Kavor’s arms tighten around me. Only a fraction. Enough. I put one hand against his chest. Not pushing. Not soothing. Warning both of us.
“Kavor,” I murmur.
He stills.
Adran steps forward with his guards behind him. Dust streaks his sleeve. He looks like a man who has survived three collapses and still found time to arrange his face into authority. I’ve never trusted that kind of discipline.
“She needs medical care,” Rosalind says.
“And we need information,” Adran says. “The lower district is cracking open. People are screaming about epis. A Zmaj from outside the City is holding classified materials no one has identified. Sera is glowing.”
My stomach turns cold. So that is the list already. Epis. Proof. Outsider. Me. Hope becomes hunger. Hunger becomes claim.
I push against Kavor’s chest. “Put me down.”
