The rain had turned the road to Birmingham into a slick gray mess. Hours out from the last safe camp, the wagons creaked under low clouds. Atlas rode point, sword loose in its sheath. Elizabeth lay in the covered litter behind him, bandages already spotting red again.
Clara walked beside it with Selene strapped tight to her chest, the baby's faint shadow marks pulsing under her wraps. Skritch rode rear, fiddling with a handful of reef gadgets that looked like copper beetles.
No warning. Just the whistle of crossbow bolts.
Fifteen men burst from the treeline, empire crests on their shoulders, silver nets glinting. "Corrupted heir!" the lead shouted. "Take the marked one alive!"
The first volley punched through the litter canvas. Elizabeth cried out as the whole thing flipped. She hit the mud hard, fresh blood spraying from her mouth. Atlas roared and charged, blade up.
