The carriage ride back to Emberheart's southern sector was silent. Sitting inside the gold-trimmed cabin, Kale watched the white pillars of the Ministry of Registry recede.
In his hand, he held the official document bearing the permanent Master seal... a thin parchment that legally certified his status.
Beside him, Lazek was quiet, his gaze fixed on the floorboards as the horses trotted over the stones, the silent relief of their victory overshadowed by the ticking clock against Kale's throat.
A sharp, burning sensation thrummed against Kale's neck, growing more intense. He reached up, his fingers brushing his collar. The synthetic skin-patch was already beginning to dissolve, liquefying into a sticky, grey grease that stained his fingertips.
