The hunt was on. Morwenna's command, a silken promise of death, echoed through the labyrinthine corridors of the Serpent's Coil, carried on unseen currents of magic and fear. Above us, in the chaotic, torchlit streets of the Sunken Market, the underworld was stirring, its denizens turning from their petty squabbles to the far more lucrative, and far more dangerous, game of hunting two fugitives who had dared to defy a king.
We were no longer just intruders; we were a bounty.
The sewer tunnel, which had been our escape route, was now a deathtrap. Every junction was a potential ambush, every shadow a potential enemy. We moved in a tense, silent symphony of survival, my draconic senses a constant, overwhelming symphony of information, Christina's sharp, analytical gaze sweeping over every detail, every shadow, every ripple in the stagnant, murky water.
