More eyes on the streets.
Not ideal for someone who makes a living quietly moving Riftborn through the city’s underbelly.
I check the final bracket and test the gate. It swings open with a smooth metallic scrape.
The yard owner exhales in relief. “Finally.”
“That’ll hold for a while,” I say, wiping grease from my hands. “But if the lower rail warps again, you’ll need to replace the hinge completely.”
He nods, already reaching into a pouch to pull out payment: Two small sacks of dried canal fish and a bundle of cured root strips.
Fair trade.
I sling the bundle into my satchel and start back towards the street. The district has grown busier since morning.
Canal barges drift past the docks while merchants shout prices across crowded stalls. Riftborn labourers move through the streets under the watchful eyes of Glowranth overseers, hauling crates or pushing carts through the narrow alleys.
The usual chaos of city life. But the tension is there. A quiet undercurrent beneath everything.
People are watching the guards more than usual. And the guards are watching everyone.
I pull my jacket around me and head towards the canal bridge that leads back towards the warehouse district.
A pair of Glowranth soldiers pass me halfway down the street while another patrol moves along the upper walkway above the canal.
Too many of them.
The Queen is locking things down, and if that keeps escalating, my tunnel routes won’t stay hidden forever.
I’m halfway across the bridge when I see them. Three guards are escorting a prisoner down the opposite side of the canal road.
The prisoner stumbles. Blood is streaked down the side of their face, one eye already swollen nearly shut.
My stomach drops. I know them.
Riftborn, a human bloke named Garrick. He works the shipping docks two districts over.
And occasionally, when no one is looking, he passes along information about patrol routes.
I slow instinctively. I don’t stop, but it’s just enough to allow me to look.
Garrick lifts his head. His eyes find mine instantly. Recognition flashes there followed quickly by relief. It’s there for a split second. Then something else replaces it.
Guilt.
My pulse spikes. No.
No no no?—
Before I can react, Garrick jerks against the guards’ grip and shouts. “Him!”
The word cuts through the street noise like a blade. The guards snap towards him.
Garrick’s voice cracks with desperation. “It’s him! The human!”
My blood turns to ice.
“He’s the one!” Garrick screams. “He’s the one helping them escape!”
