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He hums in acknowledgment, pulling a whittling knife and a small block of wood from his jacket. And the image of Kallias’s phoenix medallion flashes in my mind.

“You carved the medallion for Kallias.”

“It was one of the first things I made. He bought me the whittling knives and blocks of wood when he realized I was missing home,” he says as he starts shaving it down with meticulous patience, his eyes flitting between the task and the building below.

Time passes until motion below tightens every nerve in my body. Maxim stills beside me, his knife pausing as two men emerge from an alley, a figure hanging limp between them.

The moonlight catches on horns first—small arcs peeking through disheveled dark curls. The figure’s face is hidden from sight, their head hanging limp, but there’s something familiar in the curl of the horns, the slope of their shoulders.

Maxim curses under his breath, and I rest a hand on his wrist to silence him.

We stay crouched on the rooftop, watching as the two men drag the limp figure into the shadows of the dilapidated building. My heart pounds at the sight of the small horns peeking through a mop of curls. A nymphai, without a doubt, and one with an affinity for an earthen element.

The alley falls still, and Maxim’s wrist flexes under my touch.

“We need to go,” he says, expression grim.

I nod, my throat tight as I follow him back across the rooftop. The descent is quicker than the climb, my hands and feet moving on instinct until we’re slipping silently through the streets.

But when the footbridge to Santora comes into view, the palace towers rising against the night sky, awareness raises the fine hairs on the back of my neck.

My gaze flicks to Maxim, and I slip my hand into his, the sudden contact making him glance down at me with a frown.

Before he can speak, I pull him into an embrace, my arms wrapping around his shoulders as I lean in close.

“We’re being followed,” I whisper as his hands settle lightly on my back. “We need to split up.”

His fingers flex. “Are you sure?”

I nod, slipping an arm free to tug the map from my pocket and tuck it into his. “We can’t risk leading them back to the palace. If they’re watching us, we need to draw them away.”

“Nys—”

“Go,” I say, my voice leaving no room for argument. “I’ll be fine. Just make sure you get back safely.”

His hand brushes against mine briefly, but I’m already turning away. I head left along the canal, my steps quick but measured, my hood pulled low to shield my face. The sound of Maxim’s footsteps fades behind me as he takes the opposite path.

The canal winds through the isle, its narrow streets and alleys twisting like a labyrinth. I keep to the shadows, slipping into side streets and ducking beneath low arches as I move.

I round a corner, surveying the rooftops and the narrow windows above. The street is empty. My pulse quickens as I slip into an alcove, pressing my back against the cool stone. I wait, my breath shallow, my hand resting on the hilt of my dagger.

The silence continues, broken only by the distant sound of water lapping against the canal walls. Some of the tension eases from my body, but then awareness prickles my skin once more.

I whirl, instincts taking over. My dagger is free before I even think, the blade catching the dim light as I pivot to face the threat.

A shadow lunges.

The impact knocks the air from my lungs as I stagger back. My sandals skid against the stones, and I barely keep my balance as a hooded figure advances. I slash low, forcing them to step back, but they’re fast.

They counter with a strike aimed at my shoulder, and I twist away, the blow missing by inches. My pulse roars in my ears, every instinct screaming at me to survive. I strike again, and this time my blade connects, carving a shallow cut into their side. A hiss escapes them, but it’s not enough to slow them down. Worse, it leaves me open.

My attacker seizes the opportunity, their gloved hand clamping around my wrist with bruising strength. Before I can react, they step in close, using their weight to shove me hard against the stone wall of the shadowed alcove. Pain blossoms across my back as the impact rattles through me.

I snarl, baring my teeth like a cornered animal, and jerk against their hold, but their grip is unrelenting.

“Let me—”

The words die in my throat as they sheathe their weapon and a hand clamps over my mouth, silencing me. I thrash, but it’s useless. The dagger dangles from my trapped hand, and their grip on my wrist is iron. They lean in closer, the hood shifting to reveal sharp amber eyes and a dark, stubbled jaw.