The foreman filled the doorway.
Lantern hooded low. Boots are leaving sharp prints in the flour dust.
His eyes swept the room—
the barrel with its bleeding seam,
the bowls shoved to the corner,
the coughing girl,
the gaunt mother,
The boy who had begged for help.
Then his gaze locked on Harun's Mask.
"You," the man said. Voice flat as an abacus.
"I should have known."
Harun didn't rise.
One hand pressed against the tiny ribs of the boy in Tallen's arms.
"Name," Harun said.
The foreman's lips twitched. Tongue pressed once against his teeth.
"Kars," he said at last.
The Mask seared.
Truth: Not his name. A shadow's borrowed coat.
"Closer," the Mask urged, heat prickling his cheek.
Harun didn't move.
"Back away from the barrel."
His tone was calm—
But the word away dropped like a stone into water.
Kars flinched despite himself.
He set the lantern down.
"That belongs to the Bureau."
"The stamp does," Harun said.
"What's inside belongs to hunger."
The commander stepped in behind him.
Pistol drawn. Jaw tight. Eyes flat.
"Enough riddles," he said.
"He's wearing it. That's treason."
"Sir—" Tallen started, his son wheezing in his arms.
"Quiet." The commander didn't look back.
"He is mine."
The Mask breathed hot against Harun's skin.
Truth: Authority counts only when believed.
Harun lifted his head.
Bronze cheek gleamed in the lantern glow.
"If you shoot," Harun said,
"You'll break the line. Hunger climbs into your lungs before the boy's last breath leaves him.
Is that the account you'll file, commander?"
The pistol sagged—
only a finger's width, but enough.
Maera's voice cut in.
Rough. Steady.
"He's right. Look."
The bead at the barrel's rim shivered.
It tested the salt line.
The air tightened like a rope across the throat.
Kars's gloved hands creaked.
"If you ruin the supplement, the quotas—"
Harun snapped.
"Your supplement eats children."
The Mask surged, nearly pulling him under.
He dragged the weight back before it swallowed him, too.
His eyes cut to Finn.
"Bring more wood. We need the steam."
Finn bolted, barefoot and quick.
The commander's eyes followed him.
"You're leaving your post."
"Let him go," Harun cut in.
"Or you'll need two ledgers."
A pause.
The commander jerked his chin.
The second graycoat lowered his pistol and followed Finn out.
"You play a dangerous game," Kars said.
"I don't play," Harun said.
"I treat. That's all."
The Mask scorched.
Truth: Lie. You stand in a war.
The barrel groaned.
The towel bubbled with steam, its edges blackening where the pitch had pressed out.
Harun laid another salt line. Wider. Thicker.
The hiss-filled silence.
Neve coughed again.
Black smoke curled from her lips into the rag.
Harun caught it and pressed her chest.
"Stay," he whispered.
Her breathing smoothed, if only a little.
From the hall came a new sound.
Not boots. Not voices.
A wet dragging.
Heavier than any man.
The commander heard it.
His knuckles whitened on the pistol.
"What did you do?" he snapped at Kars.
"I sealed it," Kars said.
Voice dry as ash.
"The river gives, the city takes. That's all."
The dragging came closer.
Boards above them groaned.
Something hit the floor with a wet slap.
The Mask pulsed against Harun's face.
Truth: It comes hungry.
Harun felt the word coil sharp in his throat.
He braced.
The ceiling split.
Black seeped down in a curtain.
Thicker than smoke.
Slower than tar.
Two grey hands pressed through the boards.
Fingers twitched, remembering how to move.
Maera gasped.
Finn froze at the stove, clutching a dripping towel.
Tallen held Jori tighter, face carved in panic.
The commander raised his pistol.
His jaw worked, teeth grinding.
"Stay," Harun said.
The word fell heavily.
Air in the room tightened.
Even the thing in the rafters paused.
For a single breath.
Then the wood gave way.
Boards split.
Ash burst.
The thing dropped.
It landed in the flour dust, knees sinking deep.
Not a boy. Not man.
A shape swollen by hunger.
Skin stretched thin, mouth split wide, ribs jutting through like blades.
Black dripped from its hands, eating pits into the boards where drops fell.
Kars pressed his ledger tighter.
His face did not change.
"This," he said softly, "is your medicine."
The Mask seared into Harun's cheek.
Truth: Salt will not hold this.
The commander lifted his pistol.
Voice like stone.
"Then we burn it."