“Kavor.”
“Sera.”
We stand across a table of death maps and forbidden routes, glaring at each other over a piece of dried meat while the groundbeneath the City whispers of turning monsters. It should be absurd. It is. It is also the most important battle in the room.
She takes the second piece. The victory costs me nothing. Why, then, does it feel like ground I have no right to hold?
She eats the second piece as if she means to punish it. Small bites. Tight jaw. Eyes fixed on the map instead of me. Anger keeps her upright. Food will keep her alive.
I prefer the second. The first is easier for her to accept.
Sera drags one slate closer and marks a narrow line with a bit of charcoal. Her hand is steadier. The food has not reached her blood yet, but it will. Slowly. Too slowly for what we need. Outside the archive hollow, the City shifts.
Low voices pass in the corridor. A child cries. Stone creaks in its old bones as heat leaves the upper levels and cooler air sinks deeper. The tremors have stopped for now. Stopped does not mean gone.
I keep part of my attention beneath the floor, listening. The eastern pressure remains. Not close. Not safe. Sera taps the slate.
“Lower east exit here. Broken retaining arch here. First shade wall here.”
I look where she points. Her fingers are thin, but strong. Scarred across the knuckles. Nails cut short. Skin rough from stone, reed, water jars, and ration baskets. Human hands should not look so much like tools.
She notices my attention and curls them into a fist. I look back to the map too late.
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You should not.”
That earns me a sharp glance. Better suspicion than shame. She bends over the map again.
“If we leave through the main gate, anyone watching from the upper flats sees us. If we leave through the lower east arch, we stay hidden until the first broken wall,” she says.
“You assume there are watchers.”
“I assume anyone trying to stay alive should avoid being easy to see.”
“That is not an answer,” I say.
Her mouth tightens. I wait. I can be patient with stone. I can be patient with earth. I can be patient with silence. Humans make patience difficult. This human makes it blade-thin.
“Rosalind said armies are moving,” Sera says at last, voice lower. “Adran didn’t laugh. Virn didn’t deny it. Syin looked like he wanted to tear the word out of the air before anyone else could hear it. So yes. I assume watchers.”
She looks up. Dust shadows the hollows under her eyes. Hunger still lives there. So does fury.
“I’m not stupid,” she says.
“No.”
The answer leaves too quickly and her face changes. Only a little, but enough that it is clear she expected argument. Correction. Some careful softening that would insult her more than silence would. I give her none.
“You are not stupid,” I say. “You are underfed, angry, and surrounded by leaders who have taught you truth arrives late. That is different.”
Her lips part and for one breath she only stares at me. Then she looks away.
“Don’t do that.”
