The first morning, Aarif walked the circuit alone.
Not entirely alone — Kael was always there, and his shadow announced him to anyone who knew how to read it. But Ryn had gone in a different direction, intent on mapping the eastern stalls without Aarif's crown drawing attention away from what he was actually trying to see. Caryn had disappeared entirely, as she tended to do, and Aarif had stopped expecting her to stay in one place.
Valdris in daylight was louder than he'd expected.
Not in sound, but in density — every conversation layered, every exchange carrying more than it showed. People talked about goods and what they meant. About routes and who controlled them. Two men discussing the price of a shadow-anchor were, in reality, dissecting a failed third-threshold breach from the previous season — referencing adjustments and corrections without ever naming what had gone wrong.
Aarif moved through it, listening, observing, keeping the crown dim.
"Third stall on the left," Kael said. "The woman. She's been tracking you since the north building."
Aarif didn't look. "Hessa's?"
"Independent. She works for multiple buyers."
He kept walking. Let her follow. Filed it away.
The market opened toward the eastern edge — less commerce here, more gathering. Small groups stood in tight formations, sharing information instead of trading goods. Aarif moved along the perimeter, close enough to read the room, distant enough to seem uninterested.
He was almost clear when someone stepped into his path.
Not Brennan. Not anyone familiar.
A young man — close to Aarif's age — with a shadow that stuttered slightly behind him. Recent damage. Second threshold, not yet stable.
"You're the one with the king," the young man said.
"Yes," Aarif replied.
"I want to see it."
"No."
Aarif moved to step around him.
The young man's shadow snapped forward — fast, unrefined — catching the edge of Aarif's.
And Aarif reacted.
His shadow extended on instinct, trained response overriding thought. The contact hit his damaged hand immediately — sharp, precise pain that locked his arm for a fraction of a second. He pulled back just as quickly, cutting the connection.
The young man staggered, destabilized by the abrupt break.
They stood facing each other, both recalibrating.
"That was stupid," Kael said quietly.
He was right.
The reaction had been automatic — exactly the reflex Maren had spent weeks trying to strip out of him.
The young man looked at his own shadow, then back at Aarif.
"Sorry," he said. "I'm still working on control."
"So am I," Aarif said.
He walked away before it could turn into anything else, his right hand tight against his side, the pain settling into something deeper and more persistent.
He found Ryn near midday in the eastern stalls.
Ryn was examining a set of shadow-anchor tools, his posture relaxed — but not entirely. Aarif caught the tension beneath it immediately. The stillness of someone aware they were being watched and choosing not to react.
"How long?" Aarif asked, stopping beside him.
"Since I got here," Ryn said. "Three of them. Rotating."
"Brennan's?"
"No." Ryn shook his head slightly. "They're more interested in me than in you."
Aarif didn't respond immediately. "Your shadow."
"My shadow," Ryn confirmed.
He picked up one of the tools, turned it, set it down again.
"Trying to figure out if they're curious or collecting."
"What's the difference?"
"Curious means they want to understand it," Ryn said. "Collecting means someone already decided what it's worth — and sent people to measure how hard it'll be to take."
Aarif looked at him.
"Shadows can be taken," Ryn added. "Not like the Order does it. That's clean. This isn't." A pause. "Host usually survives."
"Usually," Aarif repeated.
Kael's voice came quietly. "A third-threshold survivor with a permanently inverted shadow? That's rare. In a place like this, rarity draws attention."
Ryn gave a short, humorless breath. "So I'm a specimen."
"In Valdris," Kael said, "interesting and specimen tend to mean the same thing."
They found Caryn at the western edge of the circuit.
She was finishing a conversation with a man Aarif didn't recognize — brief, controlled, the kind of exchange that carried history. She ended it quickly when she saw them approaching.
"Who was that?" Ryn asked.
"An old contact," she said.
"What did he want?"
"Information."
"About us," Aarif said.
A pause. Too short.
Caryn met his gaze.
"You brought us here because that has value," Aarif continued. "I understood that. What I need to know is whether that value matters more to you than keeping us informed."
She studied him for a moment, then exhaled lightly.
"He asked about Ryn," she said. "Not you."
Ryn went still.
"What did you tell him?" Aarif asked.
"That I didn't know enough to be useful." She paused. "Which is true. But he'll ask someone else."
"Who does he work for?" Ryn said.
"A collector," Caryn said. "Northern cities. Specializes in anomalies."
Ryn didn't react. Not outwardly.
"He's been here three days," she added.
Aarif's eyes narrowed slightly. "Before us."
"Yes."
"So he wasn't sent by the waystation."
"No," Caryn said. "He came on his own."
Ryn's voice was quiet. "Which means this wasn't about the crown."
Caryn didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
That night, Aarif sat in their room with his hand unwrapped.
The bruising had spread further — past the palm, edging toward the wrist. Not broken. Worse, in a way. It would still function. Just not reliably.
Ryn stood by the window, looking out over the circuit.
"I should leave," he said.
Aarif looked up.
"If they're here for me," Ryn continued, "then I'm adding a problem you don't need."
"You held position against nine Extractors," Aarif said.
"That was different."
"How?"
Ryn turned, his backwards shadow stretching across the floor. For a moment, Aarif saw it — the faint instability Ryn had mentioned before. A flicker. Real this time.
"Here I'm the target," Ryn said.
"You're present," Aarif replied. "That's not the same thing."
Ryn didn't respond immediately.
Aarif held his gaze. "Everyone here looks at my shadow first. You don't."
That landed.
Ryn turned back to the window.
Silence stretched.
"If it escalates," he said eventually.
"We deal with it."
"With that hand?"
"With whatever we have."
Ryn glanced at it — at the bruising, the limitation both of them had been avoiding naming directly.
"Hessa said two days."
"Tomorrow's the second."
"And Brennan hasn't moved yet," Ryn said.
"Which means he's waiting," Kael said.
Aarif nodded slowly. "For the hand to get worse."
Silence again.
Below them, Valdris shifted into its evening rhythm — slower, heavier, more deliberate.
Somewhere in it, Brennan was watching.
Waiting.
Aarif wrapped his hand again. Tighter this time.
The crown burned low at the edge of his shadow.
Tomorrow was coming.
And this time — it wasn't going to wait for him to be ready.