Merra makes a sound that might be disgust or approval. “Council chamber. Slowly.”
“I only have one speed right now.”
“Good. Use it.”
The corridor outside smells like dust, sweat, smoke, and fear that hasn’t decided yet whether it’s allowed to become relief. The City still stands, and that feels impossible.
People sit along the walls in clusters: children wrapped in blankets, elders with water skins, runners asleep where they slid down against stone. The ration hall evacuation is done. Second Stillness cleared. The nursery safe. For now.
For now is a thin phrase, but today it feels like a feast.
As we pass, people look at my bandaged arm, at Kavor’s hand hovering near my back, at the space between us that is no longer empty. I lift my chin.
No one speaks until Lysa pushes out of a cluster near the wall, Miri asleep against her shoulder and Tavi leaning against her side, one leg bound. Her eyes fill when she sees me.
No. Absolutely not. I can handle accusations, fear, suspicion, hunger. Gratitude is unstructured. Dangerous.
“Sera,” she says.
“I’m glad they’re breathing.”
Her mouth trembles. “Because of you.”
“Because Penr remembered the west stair release and Ila scares people efficiently and Kavor lifted what I told him to lift.”
“And because of you.”
I look away. Kavor’s fingers brush mine. Not taking. There.
I breathe.
“Because of all of us,” I say.
Lysa nods as if she understands what I can accept and what I can’t yet. Kind woman. Rude of her.
The council chamber is crowded but not chaotic. That’s Rosalind’s doing.
She stands at the stone table with Virn to one side and Syin to the other. Ila sits on the table edge because of course she does, one boot swinging, arms folded. Penr stands behind her, trying to look older than terror. Merra follows us in and immediately corners a water skin as if she expects me to run from it.
Adran is there too.
Not bound. Not bruised into silence. Not removed like a problem someone else solved.
He stands on the far side of the table with two City representatives near him, dust on his sleeves, one cheek darkened from where Virn threw him back from the shaft. His eyes are clear. Tired. Angry.
Still dangerous. Still City. That’s worse than chains would be.
He looks at my bandaged arm. Then at Kavor. Then at our joined hands. Something in his face tightens, but he says nothing. Good. No. Not good. Quiet men with ambition are rarely at rest.
Rosalind waits until the room settles, then places both hands on the table.
“The ration hall is clear. Second Stillness is clear. The nursery is clear. The west chamber shaft is closed.” Her gaze moves over every face. “For now.”
There’s that phrase again. For now. The City’s favorite prayer.
Virn’s wings shift once. “The zemlja has turned away from the ration hall.”
“Not away,” Kavor says.
