“No need for that sir shit, when it’s just the four of us.” He looked at me. “Ziara?”
“Better. Not a hundred percent, but I can run and fight.”
“Good. We’ll likely have to do both.” He pulled a desert camouflage cloth out of his bag and held it up for inspection. “These are military-grade shemaghs. That storm left a lot of debris in the air. This will keep you from breathing it in until it passes. Secure it like this.” He folded the scarf into a triangle and situated it over his head. Wrapping one side under his chin, he covered from his nose to his neck with the other. Then he tied the two ends behind his head.
“Mack, don’t shift unless the alpha orders it, but if you do, remove the shemagh first. I only brought one for each of us, and there’s no telling how many more storms we might face.”
“Please tell me those aren’t a regular thing.” We were about to trade the relative safety of a concrete ceiling for open sky, and I had zero interest in a repeat performance of last night’s magical sandblasting.
Rust shrugged. “No way to know. The last time the alpha and I were here, we were still in the service. The entire world has changed since then. Hard tellin’ what we’ll face.”
There’s at least one guaranteed threat, I mused as the dragon clawed at the edges of my thoughts.
Knowing he was aware of our location and was coming felt like sitting on a live grenade. I grimaced. Who was I kidding? More like a damn napalm bomb my team was oblivious to since I was too much of a coward to open my mouth.
I needed to tell the alpha. I would tell him. Just as soon as he was back. Telling everyone at once would be more efficient, so really, I was just being strategic.
The lie tasted drier than the jerky.
I washed both down with a long pull from my canteen and donned my shemagh. I wrapped the piece of cloth the way Rust had shown us, preparing it to cover my mouth and nose at a moment’s notice, all while rehearsing my confession and hating every version.
The door opened, and Dad appeared, scanning each of us with sharp eyes.
This was my moment. I straightened, drew a breath, and?—
“Let’s head out.”
He was already through the door. Rust followed. My open mouth closed on nothing, and the words I should have forced out crawled back down my throat as if they’d never existed.
Relief washed over me.
Then disgust, hot on its heels, because I recognized my emotions for exactly what they were. Cowardice dressed up as timing. I fell in line and marched up the stairs with Mack at my back, loathing myself with every step.
“Did they say where we’re going?” I asked Mack.
“The docks.”
The salt on the breeze told me the docks were close. Surely, I could wait to confess until we reached them.
The building spat us out into humidity so thick I could have chewed it. Sand from last night’s storm still hung in the air, turning every breath into an exercise in grit tolerance. We yanked our shemaghs into place to filter the stuff. My clothes were damp before I’d taken three steps, and sweat pooled in places I refused to think about.
I was so done with Al Mukalla.
“I can’t wait to get home,” I whispered to Mack.
As the alpha’s good little soldier, he kept his concerns and opinions to himself, but there was a spark of agreement in his eyes as we set off down the street, trudging through sand drifts.
“Why has this part of the city been abandoned?” I asked as we turned down another vacant street, catching a glimpse of the nearby sea through the buildings.
“Most residents live closer to the portal station,” Rust explained. “A few powerful casters call this place home, and they protect it from threats like the storm we experienced last night. But their magic only reaches so far.”
“How do you kno?—”
“Quiet,” the alpha snapped. “Keep your eyes and ears open.”
Adequately admonished, I swallowed the rest of my questionsand focused on our surroundings. We trekked through the city streets until we reached a highway running along the coastline so covered in sand that it was difficult to distinguish where the road ended and the walking path beside it began. Turning right, we marched beside the sea, keeping an eye on the opposite side of the road, where there were more abandoned, sandstorm-abused high-rises.
Half a mile in, something blocked the road.
