Hours later, the capital welcomed us back like nothing had ever been wrong. That was the most insulting part. The gates stood open. Guards joked lazily. The smell of roasted meat and spiced wine drifted through the streets like an invitation to forget. People laughed. Coins clinked. Life went on with the stubborn ignorance of those who believed danger always announced itself with screaming and fire.
It didn't. It never did. I felt it the moment Henry and I crossed into the merchant district. The air pressed down on my chest—subtle, insidious, like a hand placed there without permission. Not pain. Not fear.
Wrongness.
My steps slowed without conscious thought. Henry noticed immediately. He always did. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, knuckles whitening. "They should be here," he muttered, eyes scanning the crowd.
