The river was far behind them now, swallowed by darkness and distance. In its place, a narrow street stretched ahead—quiet, hushed, almost reverent beneath the flickering lanterns hung between shuttered stalls. The air smelled of warm bread, burning wood, and the faint metallic tang of dawn waiting just beyond the horizon.
For a moment, the world felt deceptively ordinary.
Almost peaceful.
Almost safe.
Almost.
Saad stood near a crumbling wall, half-hidden in its shadow. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, one hand covering her mouth as if trapping the words she dared not speak. Her brown hair fell forward, veiling part of her sharp, restless gaze. Even in stillness, her small frame radiated tension—coiled, alert, ready to snap if something moved the wrong way.
A few paces away, Suad leaned casually against a wooden post. He looked like a figure carved from moonlight and shadow—tall, composed, silver hair gleaming beneath the lantern glow. The black blindfold over his eyes revealed nothing, but somehow he seemed to see the whole street, every corner, every breath.
"We should do something," Saad whispered, but her voice carried the weight of urgency—and fear. "She's alone. If we leave her now… they'll kill her."
Suad tilted his head, the movement slow, unbothered.
Detached.
"We have our own mission, Saad," he said softly. "Getting involved isn't part of it."
Saad's fingers curled tighter against her lips, knuckles whitening. "You can't just—"
"Can't?" Suad's smile slipped onto his face like it belonged there—careless, effortless, infuriating.
"We're not saviors. We're travelers. Don't forget that."
His words struck like a cold wave.
Saad's jaw clenched.
She looked away, swallowing her frustration whole as silence thickened between them.
Across the street, Catreena lingered at a vendor's stall, the warm scent of fresh bread curling around her like a fragile shield. She handed over a few coins, the tremble in her hands betraying the chaos beneath her quiet exterior. Even now—even surrounded by lantern light and sleeping streets—she felt eyes on her.
Watching.
Waiting.
Judging.
When she returned, the twins stopped speaking instantly.
The air shifted.
She felt it—heavy, thick with something unspoken.
Saad opened her mouth, but before a single word escaped, Suad's fingers brushed her arm—a silent command.
A warning.
Saad froze, and the words died on her tongue.
Suad turned to Catreena with a smoothness that felt rehearsed, natural in a way that made her uneasy.
"We need to buy tickets for the ferry," he said gently. "It'll take us up the mountain to the Dawai Kingdom."
Catreena blinked. "You're leaving? Already?"
"Soon." His blindfold caught the lantern light again, casting a faint glow over the edge of his face. "The climb from there will take days."
Saad shifted. Once. Twice. She looked like someone standing at the edge of a confession, fighting the fear of stepping forward.
"Maybe…" she hesitated, voice trembling like a thread pulled too tight, "maybe you should come with us."
Catreena's breath caught.
For a heartbeat, the idea felt like salvation—like stepping into a new world where safety wasn't just a dream.
But then her reality crashed back.
She shook her head slowly. "I can't."
"Why not?" Suad asked, tone light, but the tilt of his head sharpened—studying, measuring, dissecting her.
"I have someone," she whispered. "A guardian. He needs me."
A shadow flickered in her eyes—quick, painful, deeply buried. A memory she wouldn't touch. Couldn't.
Not here.
Not with them.
Saad frowned but held back her questions, biting them down hard.
Suad only smiled again—soft, unreadable. "Then you'd better hurry back," he murmured, "before the city decides for you."
Catreena looked down, clutching the warm bread as though it were the last anchor keeping her from falling apart.
She didn't notice the look Saad shot at her brother—sharp, accusing, brimming with something dangerously close to fear.