Draken's Imperial City's roof rushed past in a blur beneath their feet.
Aric and Serina were shadows cutting across the night, their figures darting between moonlight and darkness.
Below them the capital still kept with life—lanterns swaying, drunkards singing, guards marching in their predictable routes. But up here, above the glow and noise, the air was sharp, quiet, and theirs.
Aric's boots touched stone with soundless precision before springing to the next roof.
Serina followed close, her robes whispering against the shingles, magic thrumming faintly around her frame with each step.
"You make this look too easy," she muttered between strides, her voice muffled by the cloth hugged across her lower face.
Aric didn't turn. "It's not supposed to be hard."
There was a beat of silence, then Serina asked the question both knew had to come.
"What about the others? The two still left."
Aric didn't hesitate. "Selim and Ozborn."
