“And that means?” she asks.
“It may be a key.”
Adran says nothing. Too quiet. I look at him. He was already thinking it. Of course. A key. Sera’s blood another. The bond another. The proof is no longer only evidence. It is access.
My stomach turns cold.
“We separate all pieces,” I say. “No sample near the anchor. No blackened growth near the healthy strand. No map near any of them.”
Rosalind nods once. “Done.”
Adran’s smile returns, faint and venomous. “You are making many decisions for someone who doesn’t command here.”
I step closer. Not enough to threaten. Enough that he must tilt his head to keep my eyes.
“I am making warnings,” I say. “You may ignore them and see how many of your people survive your pride.”
The room goes silent.
Then Ila says, “I vote we do not test that.”
“Right,” Rosalind says, nodding sharply. She points at Ila. “Go.”
And the City begins moving before it understands why.
29
SERA
Merra pulls the wrap tight around my ribs and pain flashes white behind my eyes.
I grab the edge of the stone slab with my good hand and refuse to make a sound because I am a mature adult with excellent self-control and no interest in giving a healer the satisfaction of being right.
“Breathe,” Merra says.
“Terrible advice.”
“Small breath, then.”
“I object to small things on principle.”
She pulls the wrap tighter and a sound escapes me. It’s not a whimper. More a tactical exhale. Merra’s eyebrows rise.
I glare at her. “Don’t look pleased.”
“I’m never pleased.”
“Then your face is lying.”
She ties off the wrap with brisk, merciless fingers. The little healer alcove is barely a room. Three stone walls. One hanging cloth for a door. A shelf of boiled wraps. A basin of precious water already gone pink from my blood. A vent above breathes dry heat across my face every few seconds, like the City itself is leaning close to make sure I’m still useful.
Useful. The word tastes worse now. Merra reaches for my arm. I pull it back. She looks at me. I look at her.
“You can either let me clean it,” she says, “or you can keep bleeding through a dirty wrap until the wound rots.”
“Those are both ugly options.”
“Yes.”
