It smells faintly of sage and oil. The seal bears a half-cracked emblem—two swords crossing over a broken chain.
I know that mark.
Skeela.
Mira’s eyes flick toward the door, then back to me. “That came three days ago. Said if you showed your face, she’d have something for you. Something big.”
“What is it?”
“Meeting. Tomorrow night. Quiet. She didn’t say more.”
I nod, turning the parchment over in my hands.
“She’s risking a lot,” I say.
“She always did,” Elmira replies. “But she’s smarter than you were.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
She sits down heavily on a crate, rubbing one knee like it aches worse with each breath.
“Your face is known,” she says quietly. “They’ve seen you.”
“Already?”
“Laertiez has eyes in every crack. Every shithole alley. You show up, and word spreads.”
Kragna shifts. His jaw tics.
“Then we move faster,” I say.
Elmira leans in, her eyes hard now. “You shouldn’t have come back.”
I nod. “I know.”
“I’m serious. You’re not a symbol anymore, River. You’re a target.”
I glance at Kragna.
“I’m both,” I say.
She sighs and sits back, shoulders sagging like the fire’s gone out in her bones.
“You always had a death wish.”
“No. Just a memory.”
That quiet hangs between us. Then Elmira reaches out, fingers cold and dry as paper, and squeezes my wrist once.
“Don’t let her see you bleed,” she whispers. “Skeela respects strength. And she knows how to use weakness.”
I nod, sliding the parchment into my coat.
“We’ll be gone before sunset.”
Elmira doesn’t ask me to stay. Doesn’t say goodbye.
