River’s fingers twitch at her side, just once. Then she pulls her hood lower and keeps walking.
I hate Kyrdonis. But I hate it more through her eyes.
A guard patrol rounds the corner ahead—six elves in lacquered armor black as beetle shell, pikes in hand, expressions smooth and cold. Their eyes rake the crowd, sliding past River without pause.
When they hit me, they linger.
I bare my teeth without meaning to. Not a smile. A warning.
River steps into my line of sight, blocking me. Her voice is sharp but low. “Don’t.”
“They’re staring,” I growl.
“Let them. You glare any harder and they’ll drag us both to the pits.”
“I’m not glaring.”
“You’re always glaring.”
That earns her a snort, which she ignores. She adjusts her hood and keeps moving.
We cut down a narrower street, quieter, the crowd thinning. Tavern shutters are bolted tight, lamps smashed out. The cobblestones here are uneven, slick with damp. My shoulders ease with the space, though I keep my cloak close.
River slows, checking the alleys with a glance before relaxing her pace. She walks like she knows the pulse of the city, like every corner has a rhythm she’s memorized. I follow a beat behind, heat rolling off me, my eyes tracking every face that dares glance too long.
“You move like smoke,” I murmur. My voice comes out low, a rumble.
She huffs, lips twitching. “You move like a thunderclap. Subtle isn’t really your thing.”
“Subtle’s overrated.”
She finally glances back, a spark in her eye that might almost be humor. “Here? Subtle keeps you alive.”
I grunt, but keep my tone light. Truth is, if I had my way, I’d rip these streets up stone by stone, scatter the bones of this place across the mountains.
But here, now, I let her lead.
Because if I don’t trust her to guide us through this viper’s nest, we’re already dead.
We renta room in a place that smells like everything that’s ever died in it never left.
The walls are stained a greasy yellow, sagging under years of smoke and sweat. Floorboards groan under each step like they want to confess something. The innkeep doesn’t ask for names, just coin. River slaps it on the counter without a word. She doesn’t look at me, but I can feel her jaw’s tight.
Third door on the left. The key’s rusted, the handle looser than it ought to be. She pushes it open with the edge of her boot, and we step into a space that barely qualifies as shelter. One sagging bed, a hearth, and a cracked window that wheezes with every gust of wind. Something scuttles under the floorboards. I don’t check what.
She tosses her bag down and starts unfastening the buckles of her armor without so much as a glance my way. Her fingers work with a soldier’s precision—swift, practiced. Leather straps unhook. Steel plates fall to the floor with dull clinks. Her shirt sticks to her in places, sweat-damp, outlining her spine before she yanks it off with a huff. She peels herself bare with no pretense, no modesty, like I’m a piece of furniture—something too stupid or too respectful to look.
I keep my gaze pinned on the far wall, on a mildew-stained patch that looks like a face if I squint. My hands stay clenched at my sides, tension thrumming down my spine. I can feel her moving, the shifting of fabric, the creak of the mattress as she sits and pulls a blanket up. Her skin had caught the light—shoulders dusted in salt, the long line of her neck glistening faintly from the heat of the day. I saw it. I looked.
Not for long.
Just long enough to feel a crack open somewhere behind my ribs.
“You gonna keep pretending I’m not here?” she says.
Her voice is low, dry, like she’s already laughing at me.
I grunt. “Wouldn’t want to intrude.”
