The gates of Vrensura rose like a judgment.
Fifty feet of reinforced concrete and steel mesh, topped with battery-powered lights that painted everything the color of dried blood. Guard towers at intervals—six visible, probably more hidden. Systematic. Professional. The kind of infrastructure that said *we know what we're doing* instead of *we're trying our best*.
Sable's working eye cataloged it automatically. His blue one was covered—gauze wrapped tight, makeshift eyepatch that screamed *injured* to anyone who looked close enough.
Better than screaming *heterochromia*.
Better than screaming *The Sinner*.
Beside him, Bang was swaying. Not dramatically. Just—*wrong*. His weight shifting too far left, then overcorrecting right. His bandaged feet leaving bloody prints on pavement.
"Almost there," Sable muttered.
"Can't feel my legs." Bang's voice came out slurred. Not drunk. Exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that came from burning through Grace reserves until your body forgot how to stand. "That's bad, right?"
"Probably."
"Cool. Just checking."
Ellaya's hand tightened in Sable's. Her small fingers cold despite the warmth. She hadn't spoken in twenty minutes. Just walked. Stared at the ground. Occasionally glanced at the citadel like it might vanish if she looked too long.
Second was hidden. Deep in Sable's coat pocket. The bird's small body pressed against his ribs. Completely still. Even his breathing shallow enough to be undetectable.
*Smart bird. Knows when to disappear.*
Ahead, Malvric walked like he owned the fucking road. Hands in pockets. Posture relaxed. Black suit somehow still pristine despite mud and blood and two days of hell.
The checkpoint came into focus. Not just guards—*infrastructure*. Metal detector archways. Thermal scanners mounted on posts. Three separate stations with officials checking documentation.
Professional. Systematic. *Thorough*.
Sable's throat tightened.
*Just get through. Answer questions. Don't fuck up.*
*Don't let them see.*
Twenty refugees were ahead of them. Queued in three lines. Moving slowly. Each person stopped at the arch, scanned, questioned. Some waved through. Others pulled aside for secondary screening.
The pulled-aside ones looked scared.
"Thermal scanners," Malvric said without turning around. His voice quiet. Conversational. "Standard issue. They're checking for Grace-marks—residual heat signatures from recent power usage."
Sable's blue eye tracked the scanners. Cylindrical. Mounted at head height. Red indicator lights blinking steadily.
*Bang's been using explosions for hours. His heat signature will be—*
"I'm fucked," Bang said.
"Probably," Malvric agreed.
"Can you like—lie for me?"
"I could." Malvric glanced back. His black eyes found Bang's. Held them. "But I won't."
"Cool. Cool cool cool." Bang's laugh came out strangled. "So I just—what? Explode the checkpoint?"
"Please don't." Sable's hand moved to Bang's shoulder. Steadying. "Just—walk normal. Act tired. Everyone here is tired."
"I'm not *acting*—"
"Then you're fine." Sable squeezed. Gentle. Reassuring. The performance of confidence. "Just follow my lead."
Bang nodded. Swayed. Nearly fell.
Sable caught him. His burnt arm screaming. Fresh blood seeping through bandages.
*He's going to collapse. Before we reach the checkpoint. Before we even—*
"Next group!" A guard's voice. Female. Sharp. Authoritative.
They moved forward.
The line shortened. Three refugees ahead. Then two. Then one.
Sable's analytical mind was racing. Running scenarios. Calculating probabilities.
*They'll separate us. Standard protocol for mixed groups. Question individually. Compare stories. Find inconsistencies.*
*Bang can barely stand. Won't pass interrogation. Can't maintain cover story if he's—*
"Next!"
They stepped forward.
The guard was tall. Broad-shouldered. Male. Thirty-something. Dark skin. Sharp eyes that tracked them with the focus of someone who'd done this job through multiple Rain cycles.
His gaze swept over their group. Lingered on Bang's bandages. On Sable's eyepatch. On Ellaya's exhausted face.
"IDs," the guard said.
Malvric produced his card. Extended it. The motion smooth. Practiced.
The guard took it. Scanned it. His eyebrows rose slightly.
"Upper City clearance." Not a question. An observation.
"Yes." Malvric's voice pleasant. "I was visiting Prulla when the Rain began. Unfortunate timing."
The guard studied him. At his pristine suit. At his calm posture. At the complete absence of fear or uncertainty.
"You're cleared for entry." The guard handed the card back. Gestured at Sable's group. "These with you?"
"Traveling companions. We met during evacuation."
"I'll need their documentation."
Sable's hand moved to his belt bag. Found the orange pass—the one he'd stolen from the orange-haired man. The one that had cost a life and Dropling feeding sounds that still echoed in his skull.
He extended it.
The guard scanned. Frowned.
"This is a Prulla Defense House pass. Not a civilian ID."
"Lost mine during the Rain," Sable said. His voice flat. Clinical. "Debris collapse. This is what I have."
The guard's eyes narrowed. "What citadel are you registered in?"
"Prulla."
"Occupation?"
"Maintenance worker."
"Why were you in the defense house?"
"Because I didn't want to die."
The guard's jaw tightened. Not liking the tone. But the answer was technically correct.
"The girl?" The guard gestured at Ellaya.
"My responsibility. Lost her parents during evacuation. Trying to find her father in Ionspire."
"Father's name?"
"Merelle Cronsuire. Textile merchant."
The guard noted something on his tablet. "And him?" Pointing at Bang.
"Met him during evacuation. Traveling together for safety."
"Does he have ID?"
Bang swayed. Opened his mouth. "I—"
"Lost during the Rain," Sable cut in. Fast. Smooth. "Same situation. We're all—"
"I need to hear it from him." The guard's voice went harder. "Sir. Do you have identification?"
Bang blinked. Focused with visible effort. "Uh. No?"
"No?"
"Lost it. When the—" Bang gestured vaguely. "—the fire guy happened. And the explosions. And the—" He stopped. Swayed. "What were we talking about?"
The guard's hand moved to his radio.
*Fuck.*
"He's exhausted," Sable said. His voice careful. Measured. "We've been walking for hours. He's injured. Burned. Just needs medical attention and—"
"Step aside." The guard pointed at Bang. "You. Secondary screening."
"Wait—" Sable's hand found Bang's arm. Held it.
"Let go." The guard's other hand moved to his baton. "Now."
Sable's analytical mind ran the calculation instantly:
*Fight: impossible. Four guards visible, more hidden. Systematic response. We'd be dead in thirty seconds.*
*Run: pointless. Gates behind us. Walls ahead. Thermal scanners tracking. Nowhere to go.*
*Comply: Bang goes to secondary screening. They question him. He's delirious. Says something wrong. They detain him. Start investigating. Find connections. Find—*
*Us.*
His hand stayed locked on Bang's arm.
"I said—" The guard took a step forward. "—let *go*."
"He's with me." Sable's voice came out flat. Empty. The tone he used when explaining death to patients who wouldn't accept it. "I'm not leaving him."
"You don't get a choice—"
"How much?" Malvric's voice.
The guard stopped. Turned.
Malvric stood there. Hands in pockets. Expression pleasant. Curious.
"Excuse me?" The guard's voice carried warning.
"How much." Malvric repeated. Not a question. A statement. "To expedite this process. To avoid unnecessary delays." His black eyes found the guard's. Held them. "I'm authorized for discretionary assistance during emergency situations. The boy is clearly injured. Medical attention would be—prudent."
The guard stared at him. At his clearance card still in hand. At the holographic text that marked him as *important*.
"Bribing an official is—"
"I'm not bribing." Malvric's smile was polite. Empty. "I'm offering compensation for expedited processing. Standard protocol under Emergency Provision Seven-Alpha. You are familiar with it?"
Silence.
The guard's jaw worked. "That provision requires—"
"Documentation of injury severity. Yes." Malvric gestured at Bang's bandaged arms. His bloody feet. "Visual confirmation is sufficient for Grace-burn classification. Medical professionals can verify at checkpoint medical station." He paused. "Unless you'd prefer to process him through secondary screening and explain to your supervisor why a clearly injured refugee received delayed medical attention?"
The guard's hand moved away from his radio. "How much?"
"Two thousand ilards. Split however you see fit with your colleagues."
The number landed heavy. Final.
The guard looked at his partner. At the thermal scanner operator. At the supervisor twenty feet away pretending not to listen.
Made a decision.
"Medical station." The guard pointed left. "You escort them. I want full documentation."
"Of course." Malvric's smile widened. He pulled money from his coat. Extended it.
The guard took it. Pocketed it. Looked at Sable.
"If he's lying about the injuries—if this is covering for something else—you're all detained. Understood?"
"Understood," Sable said.
They moved left. Toward a smaller building attached to the main checkpoint. Medical insignia painted on the door.
Bang was barely walking now. Leaning heavy on Sable. His weight wrong. Too much. Like his bones had turned to lead.
"Stay with me," Sable muttered.
"Trying." Bang's voice came out slurred. "Everything's—fuzzy. Can't—"
"Just a little further."
The medical station door opened. A woman emerged. Early forties. White coat. Practical expression that said *I've seen this before*.
"Grace burns?" She looked at Bang's bandages.
"Yes," Sable confirmed.
"Inside. I'll verify status for checkpoint clearance." She held the door. "Just you three. The girl waits outside."
"No." Sable's hand found Ellaya's. Held it. "She stays with me."
"Checkpoint protocol requires—"
"She stays with me." His voice went colder. Flatter. The tone that didn't negotiate. "Or we leave."
The doctor studied him. At his eyepatch. At the way he held Ellaya's hand. At something in his expression that made her jaw tighten.
"Fine. Inside. All of you."
They entered.
The medical station was small. Clean. Three beds. Medical equipment that actually worked. Chem-strips that didn't flicker.
*Civilization.*
*Or its best impression.*
Bang collapsed onto the nearest bed. Not sitting. *Collapsing*. His body giving up the moment horizontal surface was available.
"Remove the bandages," the doctor said.
Sable unwrapped them. Slowly. His hands steady despite the tremor trying to start. Medical training overriding exhaustion.
The burns underneath were—
*Bad.*
First-degree across most surfaces. Second-degree in patches. Blistering. Weeping. The kind of damage that said *Grace overuse* louder than words.
The doctor's expression didn't change. She'd seen worse. Probably saw worse every Rain cycle.
"How long has he been using explosive Grace?" She asked it casually. Clinically. The question designed to confirm diagnosis not interrogate.
"Hours," Sable said. "During evacuation. Fighting Torrent-borns."
"Frequency?"
"Constant. Maybe—" He calculated. "—sixty activations. Maybe more."
The doctor nodded. Made notes. "Consistent with observed damage." She looked at Bang's face. "You overextended. Grace burnout. You're lucky you can still walk."
"Don't feel lucky," Bang mumbled.
"You will in three days when you're healed instead of dead." She applied fresh antiseptic. Bang made a sound like a dying animal. "This is standard Grace overuse. I'll document for checkpoint clearance. You'll need bed rest. Real rest. Not walking-between-citadels rest."
"Can he travel?" Malvric asked.
"Shouldn't. But people do stupid things." The doctor wrapped fresh bandages. Professional. Efficient. "If he keeps walking, recovery time doubles. If he uses Grace again before healing, permanent damage. Understood?"
"Understood," Sable said.
The doctor turned to him. "Your turn."
"I'm fine."
"You're bleeding through your bandages. I can see it from here." Her voice carried the weight of someone who'd argued with stubborn patients before. "Either I check it or I report incomplete medical screening. Choose."
Sable's jaw tightened.
*Can't refuse. Can't raise suspicion. Can't—*
He sat on the second bed. Started unwrapping his burnt arm.
The doctor's expression shifted. Went clinical. Focused.
"Grace burns?" She looked at the pattern. The way the tissue had charred.
"Yes."
"When?"
"Yesterday. During first Rain wave."
"This should be worse." Her fingers probed gently. Testing. "The healing is—accelerated. You have regeneration Grace?"
"Borrowed." The lie came out smooth. Easy. "From—someone who shared during the Rain."
The doctor nodded. "That explains the recovery rate." She applied fresh antiseptic. Sable's teeth clenched but he didn't make sound. "The burn will scar. Regeneration can't eliminate nerve damage completely. You'll have reduced mobility in this arm."
"I know."
"You a medical professional? You look young."
"Started training since 9,Dropped out."
"Shame. You handle pain well." She rewrapped his arm. "Anything else?"
Sable hesitated.
His eye. The destroyed-then-healed one. The blue iris floating in red sclera that marked him as *wrong*.
*She'll want to examine it. Will ask questions. Will document heterochromia in her notes. Will—*
"No," he said.
The doctor studied him. At the eyepatch. At the way he wouldn't meet her gaze directly.
"Eye injury?" She asked carefully.
"Healing. Don't want to disturb it."
"I should verify—"
"It's *fine*." His voice came out harder than intended. He softened it. "Please. It's—sensitive. Light hurts. I just need the eyepatch."
The doctor's jaw tightened. Professional concern warring with checkpoint efficiency.
Made a decision.
"Fine. But if it gets infected—"
"I know what to watch for."
She turned to Ellaya. "You. Any injuries?"
Ellaya shook her head. Small. Silent.
"Verbal confirmation required."
"No injuries," Ellaya whispered.
The doctor checked her anyway. Quick. Efficient. Found nothing. Made notes.
"You're all cleared." She handed Sable a yellow slip. "Show this at final checkpoint. You'll be admitted to temporary housing district. Food. Beds. Medical supplies available at district station."
"Thank you," Sable said.
They stood. Bang moving slowly. His legs working but barely. Malvric already at the door.
Outside, the checkpoint supervisor was waiting.
Tall. Female. Sharp-eyed. The kind of person who noticed *everything*.
"Medical clearance?" She extended her hand.
Sable gave her the yellow slip.
She scanned it. Nodded. Handed it back.
"Temporary housing is District Four. Follow red lights. Check in at district station within two hours." Her gaze swept over them. Lingered on Malvric. "You're cleared for three days. After that, you need to register permanent residence or leave."
"Understood," Malvric said.
They walked through the final gate.
Into Vrensura.
The difference was immediate.
*Clean*.
Not spotless. Not pristine. Just—*maintained*. Streets that had been swept. Buildings with working doors. Red cell battery powered lights instead of Chem-strips.
*Civilization.*
*Real civilization.*
*Or close enough.*
People moved through the streets. Tired. Exhausted. But *alive*. No one running. No one screaming. Just—*walking*. Living. Pretending the Rain hadn't happened.
Sable's hand found Ellaya's. Held it.
"We're inside," he said quietly.
She nodded. Didn't smile. Just nodded.
*Safe.*
*Temporarily.*
*Maybe.*
They followed the red lights. Twenty minutes of walking. Bang leaning heavy on Sable. Malvric walking ahead with that same confident stride that revealed nothing.
District Four appeared. Rows of identical buildings. Grey concrete. Functional. Housing blocks converted to refugee temporary shelter.
The district station was small. Staffed by two officials who looked ready to collapse.
"Housing assignment?" The male official looked at their group with glazed eyes.
Malvric showed his clearance card. The official's expression shifted. Became more alert.
"Upper City clearance." He straightened slightly. "We have limited private accommodations available. Block Seven has—"
"I'll need accommodations for four," Malvric said. His voice pleasant. Conversational. Like discussing weather. "My traveling companions require rest. Medical recovery. I'm authorized for emergency housing allocation under Crisis Management Protocol."
The official blinked. "That protocol requires—"
"Documentation of medical necessity. Which we have." Malvric gestured at Bang's bandaged form. At Sable's burnt arm. "Verified at checkpoint medical station. I can provide the clearance codes if needed."
Silence.
The official looked at his partner. At their glazed expressions. At the stack of housing requests waiting to be processed.
Made a calculation.
"Block Seven. Fourth floor. Room eighteen. Four beds. Private bathroom. Kitchen access." He handed Malvric a key. His voice carried resignation. "Standard three-day clearance applies."
"Of course." Malvric pocketed the key. "Meal vouchers?"
"Distributed at eighteen hundred hours. Cafeteria is ground floor, Block Seven."
"Medical supplies?"
"Available at medical station. Block Nine. Present your clearance for priority access."
"Excellent." Malvric's smile was polite. Empty. "Thank you for your assistance."
They walked away.
Sable's analytical mind was *racing*.
*Private room. Four beds. Kitchen access. Priority medical supplies.*
*He didn't ask. He demanded. And they gave it.*
*Because his clearance is—*
*What exactly?*
*What is Malvric?*
They reached Block Seven. The building was different. Cleaner. Maintained. The kind of structure reserved for citizens, not refugees.
The stairs didn't creak. The hallways smelled like disinfectant instead of desperation.
Room eighteen was on the fourth floor. Malvric unlocked it.
Inside: four real beds with actual mattresses. A bathroom with running water. A small kitchen area with working appliances. Windows without bars.
*This isn't refugee housing.*
*This is—*
"Make yourselves comfortable," Malvric said. He set his bag on the nearest bed. "I'll procure additional supplies. Food. Medical materials. Clothing." His black eyes found Sable's. "You'll need to stay inside. All of you. Minimize exposure."
*What does he want?*
Sable's jaw tightened. His analytical mind running calculations. Mapping variables.
*He's investing. Resources. Time. Energy. Creating obligation. Building leverage.*
*Because later—*
*Later he'll want something.*
*Something I can provide. Something he needs.*
*And my situation—wanted, hunted, desperate—becomes his leverage.*
*Classic manipulation. Offer help when refused means death. Create dependency. Then collect.*
The realization settled cold in his chest.
*I know exactly what he's doing.*
*And I can't refuse.*
*Because Bang needs medical supplies. Because Ellaya needs rest. Because I need to reach Ionspire and I need him to get there.*
*Because survival requires accepting help from people who'll use it against you later.*
Sable looked at Malvric. At his pleasant expression. At the calculation hidden behind politeness.
"Thank you," Sable said. The words tasted like copper.
"You're welcome." Malvric headed for the door. "I'll return within the hour. Don't answer the door for anyone else."
He left.
The door clicked shut.
Sable stood there. Processing. His blue eye tracking the room's details. His brown eye just feeling the weight of obligation settling like concrete.
*This is a transaction.*
*Help now. Payment later.*
*And the payment will be—*
*What?*
*What does Malvric need from me that's worth this investment?*
Bang collapsed onto the nearest bed. Groaned. "This is *amazing*. There's—there's an actual *mattress*." His voice carried genuine awe. "I can feel springs. Springs are good, right?"
"Springs are good," Sable confirmed.
"I'm gonna sleep for three days." Bang's eyes were already closing. "Wake me when we're not being hunted anymore."
Ellaya sat on another bed. Second hopped onto the pillow beside her. The bird made a soft, satisfied trill.
*Safe.*
*Temporarily.*
*Because of Malvric.*
Sable walked to the window. Looked out at Vrensura's streets. At the red lights painting everything crimson. At people moving below—refugees, citizens, guards.
*Any of them could be looking for me.*
*Any of them could recognize—*
His hand moved to his eyepatch. Pressed against it. Making sure it was secure.
*Was it worth it?*
The question came unbidden. Unwanted.
*Writing that message. "THE SINNER WAS HERE." Claiming credit. Making myself a target.*
*If I hadn't—if I'd just killed Rheena and left—would they even know who to hunt?*
*The recording equipment. Damaged but functional. It captured footage. Damaged footage, but enough.*
*They'd have seen the fight. Seen Second's transformation. Seen me.*
*Maybe not clear enough for physical description. Maybe not enough to identify. But enough to know someone killed an Anointed-rank Knight.*
*Enough to start hunting.*
*The message just—*
*What?*
*Gave them a name. Made it personal. Turned anonymous kill into statement.*
*Into challenge.*
*Into—*
*Pride.*
The word landed heavy.
*I wanted them to know. Wanted House Varthon to see that someone from the Dredge could kill their knight. Wanted to make them—*
*Afraid?*
*Angry?*
*Aware?*
He looked at his reflection in the window. At the eyepatch. At the way his jaw was clenched tight enough to ache.
*Would it have mattered?*
*If I'd stayed anonymous—they'd still have the footage. Still know someone powerful killed Rheena. Still hunt.*
*The message just made it—*
*Easier.*
*For them to identify me. For them to create narrative. For them to turn kill into terrorism instead of desperate survival.*
His hand pressed harder against the eyepatch.
*So the conclusion is the same.*
*With or without the message, they're hunting me. They have evidence. They have motivation. They have resources.*
*The only difference is—*
*Now they have a name to hate.*
*Now they have a target to rally against.*
*Now they can paint me as villain instead of victim who fought back.*
Something in his chest went cold.
*The Sin of Pride likes me.*
The notification had appeared after the kill. After the message. After—
*I did it for pride. For the satisfaction of making them see. Making them know.*
*Not for safety. Not for survival.*
*For ego.*
Sable's jaw tightened hard enough something popped.
*Fuck.*
Behind him, Ellaya's voice. Small. Worried. "Sable?"
He turned. Found her watching him. Brown eyes tracking his expression.
"Are we safe here?" She asked quietly.
The question landed like a blade.
*No.*
*We're never safe. Not really. Just temporarily not dying.*
*And I made it worse. Made us more visible. More hunted.*
*Because I wanted them to know my name.*
"For now," he said instead.
Ellaya nodded. Accepted it. Lay down on the bed. Second settled beside her.
Within minutes, her breathing evened out. Sleep taking her.
Sable stood at the window. Watching.
Waiting.
For Malvric to return with supplies and ulterior motives.
For the moment when temporary safety became permanent trap.
For the inevitable collection on debts he was accumulating faster than he could track.
*I need him.*
*To reach Ionspire. To deliver Ellaya. To survive.*
*Which means whatever he wants later—*
*I'll have to give it.*
*Because that's how this works.*
*Help is never free. Debts always collect.*
*And I just signed myself into obligation with a man whose true motives I don't understand.*
The cold settled deeper.
*Three days.*
*That's the clearance. Three days before we have to move.*
*Three days to rest. Recover. Plan.*
*Three days to figure out what Malvric really wants.*
*Three days until—*
Outside, a vehicle crawled past. Not Blackwater. Just transport. But Sable's body tensed anyway. Ready. Waiting.
For the moment when red lights became sirens.
For the moment when false security shattered.
For the moment when the price of pride became clear.
He stood there. Watching. As grey afternoon became red evening. As Vrensura breathed and lived and hunted.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice whispered:
*Was it worth it?*
*Making them know your name?*
*Making yourself into the villain they needed?*
*Was pride worth this?*
The question had no answer.
Just red lights and shadows and the weight of knowing that every choice had cost.
And the bill was coming due.
-----
An hour later, footsteps in the hallway.
Measured. Deliberate. Wrong cadence for refugees.
Sable's hand found the chain. Drew it. The sharp hook catching light.
Three knocks. Precise. Calculated.
"It's me," Malvric's voice.
Sable opened the door.
Malvric stood there. Arms full of supplies. Bags. Boxes. More than one person should be able to carry.
"Help me with these," Malvric said.
They brought everything inside. Set it on the kitchen counter.
Sable inventoried automatically: Fresh bandages. Antiseptic. Pain medication. Real food—bread, cheese, preserved meat. Clean clothes. Four sets. Properly sized.
"How much did this cost?" Sable asked.
"Does it matter?" Malvric was already unpacking. Organizing. "You needed supplies. I procured them."
"Everything has a price."
"Yes." Malvric's black eyes found his. Held them. "And we'll discuss mine later. When you're not bleeding and exhausted and responsible for three people."
**[Truth Evasion: ACTIVE]**
**[VERDICT: TRUE]**
*There it is.*
*Confirmation. He wants something. Will collect later.*
*When I'm desperate enough to give it.*
Sable's jaw tightened. "What do you want?"
"Later." Malvric's smile was polite. Final. "For now, rest. Recover. We have three days."
He finished unpacking. Set clean clothes on each bed. Placed medical supplies in the bathroom. Arranged food in the small kitchen.
Efficient. Professional. Like he'd done this before.
"I'll be in my room if you need anything," Malvric said. "It's down the hall. Room twenty-two." He headed for the door. Stopped. Looked back. "Oh. One more thing."
Sable waited.
"The announcement will come soon. Tonight, probably." Malvric's expression stayed pleasant. Empty. "About the manhunt. The Sinner. Bounty. Description." He paused. "Stay inside. Keep the eyepatch on. Don't draw attention."
"How do you—"
"I have connections. Blackwater procedures are predictable." Malvric opened the door. "Sleep well, Sable."
He left.
The door clicked shut.
Sable stood there. Processing. His mind racing through implications.
*He knows about the manhunt. Before it's announced. Which means—*
*What?*
*Informants? Contacts? Inside access?*
*What is Malvric?*
Bang was already asleep. Snoring softly. Exhaustion claiming him completely.
Ellaya stirred. Half-awake. "Sable?"
"I'm here."
"Is everything okay?"
*No.*
*Everything's fucked. We're hunted. In debt. Trapped in false security that will soon collapse.
"Yes," he lied. "Everything's fine."
Ellaya nodded. Went back to sleep.
Sable walked to the window. Looked out at Vrensura. At the red lights. At the world that would soon know his name.
And waited.
For the announcement that would make temporary into countdown.
For the moment when the price of pride became clear.
For the inevitable collection on debts he couldn't refuse.
*Three days.*
The clock was already ticking.