The stronghold had been pressing in on me for days—too many bodies, too many eyes, too many decisions made by people who weren't me. But here? Out here wasmine.
I knew these streets. Not this district specifically, but the rhythm of them—the way ruined cities held their secrets, the paths that opened up if you knew how to look. I'd spent years running through Velmyra's underbelly, ducking patrols, slipping salves to Shadowmarked children whose parents couldn't afford to hide them properly. Untouchable. Uncatchable.
The Uncrowned had tried to cage that. Shrink it down. Make me small and careful anddependent.
Fuck that.
We moved through streets that had forgotten they were streets. Cobblestones buckled and warped. A fountain stood frozen mid-spray, water suspended in crystalline loops that caught the dying light.
Glitch territory. The no-man's-land where reality stuttered and forgot its own rules.
The Crownforged moved ahead of me. He hadn't spoken since we'd left the stronghold. Just walked with that silent, predatory efficiency, scanning every corner, every doorway, every patch of darkness deep enough to hide a threat. Riveting company. Like patrolling with a particularly judgmental wall.
I let him lead for maybe ten minutes before the restlessness won.
A collapsed archway blocked the main path—rubble piled chest-high, unstable and sharp-edged. Eryndor was already calculating an alternative route, his eyes tracking left toward a narrow alley that would add another quarter-mile to our patrol. I could practically hear the tactical math happening behind his forehead. Fascinating. Truly.
I didn't wait for his assessment.
Three running steps. A leap that used the debris as a springboard. My body remembered this—the coil and release, the brief weightlessness, the wind catching my hair as I cleared the gap and landed in a crouch on the other side.
Gods, I'd missed this.
I straightened, brushing off dust. Eryndor stood across the collapse, his silence heavy with disapproval.
"Coming?" I called, not bothering to hide my smile.
He said nothing. Just picked his way through the rubble with efficient, joyless precision while I waited, practically bouncing on my heels.
The next obstacle I took at a run too—a gap between rooftops that any sensible person would have skirted. And the one afterthat. Each jump unraveled a knot that had been wound too close, a small rebellion against the Uncrowned’s measured life. Eryndor kept pace. Kept watching.
We hit a section where the street had buckled entirely—archaic cobbles heaved upward into a jagged ridge, a frozen wave of stone. Beyond it, a drop into shadow. Maybe ten feet. Maybe more. Hard to tell with the light bleeding out of the sky.
My Luminar mark flared, a brief pulse of warning.Glitch. Recent. Be careful.
Careful was for the stronghold.
I backed up. Took a breath. And ran.
The jump was longer than I'd calculated. I knew it the moment my feet left the stone—that split-second recognition that I'd misjudged the distance, that momentum wasn't going to be enough.
My fingers gripped the ledge. Barely. Stone bit into my palms, my legs swinging over nothing, my grip already slipping on the decaying edge.
Shit.
I scrambled for purchase, boots scraped uselessly against the sheer face below. My shoulders screamed. My fingers burned. I could pull myself up—probably—but the stone was flaking away under my hold, and the darkness below wasn't giving any hints about how far I'd fall if I—
A hand closed around my wrist.
He gripped it—cool, calibrated—and held me suspended while my feet found a crack in the stone face. Then another hand at my elbow, steadying, guiding, and I was up and over the ledge, gasping on solid ground while my heart tried to punch through my ribs.
The Crownforged released me the moment I was stable. Stepped back. His face betrayed nothing—not concern, not anger, not even the satisfaction of being right.
Heat flooded my face.
"I didn't ask for—"
His hand came up, harsh and sudden. A chopping motion that cut my words off at the root.
