“More than supports it,” she says. “He’s stepped up—publicly in Dathanor. His guard captain—Kael—is backing him completely.”
I feel Varek’s attention fix on the name. “Kael has proven reliable.”
“More than reliable,” Shanae says. “Between him, the prince, and Solan joining the fight… we’ve got real momentum building.”
The name Solan brings another flicker of recognition. The Pyronox warrior. Fierce, unpredictable, and apparently extremely effective when pointed at the right enemy.
Shanae folds her arms. “And that’s why you need to come back.”
Varek doesn’t answer immediately. The hesitation is subtle but unmistakable.
“Plans are forming,” she continues. “For the first time since the rebellion started, we’ve actually got enough pieces moving in the same direction to make something happen.”
She glances briefly towards the exit where the escapees vanished. “The prince’s influence, Kael’s guard connections,Solan’s combat strength… and the research team working through the books from the citadel.”
Varek’s gaze sharpens again. “You have made progress?”
“More than we expected,” Shanae says. “The scrolls and records we pulled from the citadel are… complicated. But they’re starting to reveal things about the rifts.”
My head lifts slightly at that. “What kind of things?”
She looks at me. “Things we should talk about somewhere that isn’t a sewer tunnel.”
Fair.
Varek remains silent for another moment. Then he looks towards me, not at the tunnel.
Atme.
The meaning is clear: He needs to go back.
Dathanor is where the rebellion lives. Where plans are made. Where this war might actually turn into something more than survival.
“You should go,” I say, ignoring the ache in my chest and the uncertainty flaring to life behind my ribcage.
Shanae nods immediately. “Exactly.”
But Varek doesn’t move. His gaze lingers on me longer than necessary, carefully neutral. “You could return with us.”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Pax—”
“I’ve got work here.”
Which is true. The city network, the tunnels, the people slipping through the labour houses and factory districts every week looking for a way out or something as essential as food. Someone has to keep the door open.
“And you know it,” I add.
Varek studies me. He doesn’t argue, which somehow makes the moment heavier instead of easier.
Shanae looks between us with open curiosity. “You two still doing this dance?”
“Apparently,” I mutter.
She shakes her head slightly. “You know he’s impossible when he decides something.”
“Oh, I’m aware.”
