The ruins looked smaller when Zza stumbled back into them.
Maybe because she'd grown.
Maybe because the city's breath was still crawling under her shell like a cold hand searching for a pulse to steal.
The coalition gathered the moment they saw her. Scarabs froze mid-step. Centipedes coiled tight. Glowbeetles dimmed as if the light in their bodies tried to hide. Even the Weaverworms drifted back, silk trembling like loose nerves.
Zza didn't speak right away.
Her legs wobbled.
Her wings twitched without rhythm.
Her claws shook, not from exhaustion, but from something colder.
The Elder floated down in front of her.
"You returned."
The words weren't filled with relief.
Just suspicion wearing a polite mask.
Zza lifted her head—slow, uneven—and saw their eyes settle on her chest.
The mark.
She hadn't noticed it at first.
Too busy running.
Too busy breathing.
But now it burned.
