Eloy crouched beside a grain sack and turned his pockets inside out. Chaff and dust drifted through the pale dawn light leaking between the storehouse's slatted walls. Empty burlap sacks leaned against the far wall in uneven towers, each one slowly toppling into the next.
Two mana vials clinked against the burlap. The bandage on his head had bled through again, fabric stiff with dried rust. His ankle throbbed with each heartbeat.
Capital's locked. Valen's status still reads CAPTURED. No route. No food. Fourteen-day death mark ticking down.
He had no category for this.
Maya set her satchel on an adjacent sack and unclasped it. The ledgers came out first, edges bent from being pressed against her ribs all night, then the crumpled parchment map. She placed each item in a row.
"Two mana potions. The ledgers. A map that ends at the third checkpoint."
