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And he turned, heading back in our direction.
He hobbled along on his one good leg and turned the corner, drifting past us a few steps in case Onshev was watching his retreating back.
He paused, frozen, the fear evident on his face.
Any doubts I might have had about Anlon’s loyalty were killed at that moment.
You couldn’t fake fear like that.
Onshev remained at the top of the hall for a moment longer before heading back to his office, the threat momentarily averted.
Madison’s sigh of relief was audible, and I realized I had been holding my breath too.
“This way,” Anlon said, taking us down another hall.
As we moved away, the smell of fresh air began to permeate the mustiness, signaling our proximity to the exit.
I allowed myself a moment of gratitude, not just for our narrow escape but for the unexpected ally we had found in Anlon.
We rounded another corner, and I pulled Madison into a brief embrace, our shared relief palpable between us.
The softness of her hair, the grace of her skin againstmine, the scent of her — a mix of adventure and determination — all made the dangers we faced seem worth it.
“Thank you, Anlon,” Madison whispered, her voice quivering with emotion.
Anlon merely nodded, his singular eye twinkling with a mix of mischief and wisdom. “There’s more to this old Chi than meets the eye,” he said with a wink.
The distinctive soundsof Hiikas shifting in their pens made me feel confident.
Their braying was unmistakable, and it took me back to my days exploring distant worlds.
I remember the taste of the slightly acidic fruits we’d pick on our travels and the dust of uncharted roads.
Now, those same Hiikas would aid our escape.
As we entered, the sharp scent of fresh hay and animals mixed with the tang of aged wood and the faint smell of shuttle oil.
Anlon led us to a secluded corner of the stables.
“Anlon.”
I tightened my grip on Madison, feeling her fingers dig into my hand in response.
It was the Fli’at’s voice.
I yanked Madison into an empty Hiika stall and crouched down.
It was built from wooden slats, and we would have been easily visible if the Fli’at just looked.
The key was not to move a muscle.
I held onto Madison, her head pressed against my chest.
Our breaths can slow and steady.
With his slinky gait and beady eyes, the Fli’at seemed to glide more than walk.
A foul odor, distinctively his, became more pronounced as he drew closer — a mix of sweat and something pungent.
