When it happened, Skela and Neprah were resting in a narrow alley, away from the crowd, where the stones seemed to breathe dust.

Neprah stared miserably at the hard-won black bread in his hand. His eyes balked at the white flecks on it—wood shavings or mold, frost on burnt earth.

Skela sat on a makeshift wooden stool. Her head drooped in little nods, then snapped up. Her delicate face lifted, dazed like a sparrow startled by sudden rain.

Since arriving in Dalahaman, she scanned the world while keeping an eye on Neprah. Her nerves stayed strung like a drawn bow. Let go a little, and weariness flooded in, a tide that dragged her lids down.

The campfire, fed by broken scraps, crackled and popped. Skela hovered on the border of dream and waking, crossing it back and forth, until sleep finally pulled her under.

Her lashes lowered. This time she didn’t jolt awake.

Maybe the ruin around her bled into the dream. She found herself bound to a strange dais, wrists and ankles locked by heavy cast-iron rings. The air swam with rot, a stench more decayed than any slum.

It was a profaned place, steeped in pain and fear. Skela knew that more clearly than anyone.

Yet, for some reason, the fear didn’t bite as hard.

It’s okay. I’ll get you out. I swear I will.

A young voice, tender yet firm, sounded at her ear. Calm spread through her like warm light in cold water, and guilt pricked beside it.

That feeling again. A hollow, like a missing shard inside her heart.

The High Sister had told her the Sacred Heart would give her answers. But she felt the answer was right there, almost within reach.

If she just turned her head and looked once at the speaker, maybe—

Before that, a tight string in her chest snapped, chiming like glass filament.

Skela jerked up. Her gaze locked with Neprah’s.

“Someone breached the ward?”

Skela nodded. The warding circle she’d laid had been triggered, and not by one intruder.

They were here for trouble. No doubt about it.

Neprah’s eyes lit. He finally had an excuse to toss the untouched bread into the fire. He flexed his hands, and his cloak billowed with teal wind magic.

“Then let this grand lord meet—”

Skela grabbed his collar and dragged him the other way.

“What, trouble’s at the door and I can’t throw a punch?”

Irritation still ringed Skela from being jerked awake. Neprah’s resistance tugged at her arm, and sparks of temper rose.

“I’ve told you. We’re close to the spot on that note. Don’t draw eyes now!”

“I just want to teach them a lesson—”

“You idiot!”

The word flew, grossly disrespectful toward the second prince, but she couldn’t stop it.

In that moment, she understood why Prince Samir’s face went cold the instant he saw his brother.

At Lady Adelaide’s side, she was the carefree dog chasing the frisbee, no thinking needed, only joy. With Neprah, she felt like a menopausal mom; life was hard enough, and she still had to mind this stubborn, self-assured giant baby.

“No magic here. No magic—no magic!”

She repeated it three times, not even bothering to lower her voice. “No one here uses magic. If you do, all of Dalahaman will know we’re in town!”

Skela had grown up in the remote far north. She knew what it cost a place like this to raise a mage.

Back home, aside from the High Sister with healing water magic, mages were few. Most had tricks fit for festival fireworks at best.

Lay down small, hidden wards on the ground? Cast a quick cleanse at your nose? Fine. But a wind mage who can take on ten in a slum? Even the drunk floating in the river would know he’s from the capital.

Use magic to fight, and that group named Hakadi from the note will go on high alert. All their low-profile effort would evaporate.

Neprah stared at her, utterly baffled.

“Just beat them so hard they won’t dare talk, no?”

At that, Skela instantly layered a metal-aspected enhancement on her arm. She hauled the protesting Neprah out of the alley, while he mouthed, “You said don’t use magic,” every step.

But while she argued with this mule-stubborn muscle fool, the trouble-seekers had already closed the ring around the alley.

Seeing dozens of men with nailed planks, Neprah finally realized how rotten his plan was.

“There!”

“Outsiders! Outsiders!”

Hearing the shout, Skela and Neprah broke into a run.

They weren’t slow, not compared to the hungry mob behind them. But the slum’s tangled paths kept the distance from stretching.

Worse, they had no idea where they were headed. Soon, they were lost in passages like a maze carved from mud.

The ochre road never changed. Layered buildings swallowed the sun above, and direction slipped away. After one more corner that looked exactly like the last, a thick red-earth wall stood dead ahead.

Pursuers behind. No exits before, above, or to either side.

Was there any choice left besides using magic? But—really use magic on ordinary people?

Cold sweat trailed down Skela’s temple. She raked her mind for spells that wouldn’t hurt anyone. But to face Mira, she had trained for combat. Nothing gentle rose to hand.

Footsteps swelled behind them. One more fork, and the chase would have eyes on them.

Neprah had already strapped on his gauntlets. Blood felt inevitable.

Then, a shout cut the air.

“They’re this way! Outsiders are this way!”

A girl’s voice. Familiar, inexplicably.

Skela’s eyes flew open. She yanked Neprah toward a road-side shack, kicked in its rotting door, and pulled them inside.

“What are you doing? They know it’s a dead end. They’ll search here!”

Skela raised a finger for silence. He wasn’t wrong. If the pursuers took this fork, they wouldn’t skip this room. They’d be trapped in a tight box, hands and feet clumsy, even more passive.

Even so, Skela chose to gamble.

She held her breath. Neprah bit down and copied her, not understanding, but unwilling to break.

For those brief seconds, her heartbeat thumped like drums in her ears. Breath stopped, her face flushed. Lack of air scattered black specks across her vision.

If they opened the door now, her fogged mind couldn’t even draw the smooth curve of a basic circle. She’d be grabbed, helpless.

But the footsteps didn’t close in. They drifted away.

Skela had bet right. That voice had lured all the pursuers down another fork.