We weren't planning to run that night.
We weren't even planning to move.
Just lay low. Wait. Let Veyr's dogs sniff somewhere else for a while. Let the city forget the whisper of a missing noble boy and the girl with one ear who always vanished at dusk. Let the dust settle.
But dust doesn't settle when you're made of storm.
It started with a scream.
Not mine.
Not Selaithe's.
Somewhere deep in Tharionne, someone screamed—loud and long, the kind that tears something open in your chest when you hear it. Then came the bells. And then came the smoke.
I was half-asleep on a bundled cloak in the back of the apiary cellar when I smelled it—burning pitch, crackling timber. Not close, not yet. But growing.
Selaithe froze mid-step, her silhouette still against the flickering lanternlight. Her fingers twitched at her side.
"…What happened?" I asked, pushing myself up fast, cloak half-falling from my shoulders. My hand reached for Calden's blade before I even realized it.
Her jaw was tight. "It wasn't me."
I raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
She spun on me, eyes wide. "Kaelen. I swear. I don't set fires unless I mean it—and I don't mean it right now."
That wasn't comforting.
The next moment we were moving—scrambling through the hatch, up into the apiary ruin. The old beams groaned above us. Smoke drifted thick and angry from the east, casting a rusty glow through the trees.
Then came the panic.
Shouts in the streets. Children crying. Metal slamming. I could see the glow against the sky—bright orange, like the city had turned into a forge.
Selaithe's eyes scanned the rooftops. "It's spreading fast. Someone hit a storage ward. Dumb bastards must've used powder barrels."
"Who would do that?"
"Someone brave. Or stupid. Or both."
"Sounds like someone we know."
She flashed a grin. "Aw. You're getting better at jokes."
And then, just like that, the moment snapped.
She grabbed my wrist.
"Gates'll close. We don't use them. We ghost out."
I didn't argue.
We ran.
Not down roads—roads were death traps. We bolted through side alleys littered with market refuse, over toppled crates, through a butcher's yard that stank like iron and death. I slipped once—blood or water or both beneath my boots—and Selaithe caught me like I was made of twigs.
"They're already fanning out," she hissed, yanking me toward the eastern fringe. "Patrols are splitting up. That's good. Smaller clusters are easier to avoid."
"You've done this before."
"Of course I have," she said. "Haven't you?"
"No!"
"Well, first time for everything. Congratulations, you're committing your first official felony."
"Second," I muttered. "The first was being born wrong."
Selaithe laughed—bright and terrible.
"Gods, I love that one."
But we didn't laugh long.
Because we turned the corner—
And found them.
Three city wardens. Chainmail half-fastened, faces red with smoke and frustration. One had a torch. Another a crossbow. The third had a hand on his sword.
They weren't in formation.
But they blocked the alley.
"Well, well," said the one with the torch. "You two—stop!"
Selaithe stepped in front of me, one arm out. Calm. Casual.
"Hi there," she said cheerfully. "You're in our way."
"That's the idea."
"Are we under arrest?" she asked.
"You're under suspicion."
"Cute." She reached into her belt—too fast.
The wardens flinched.
But she didn't draw a blade.
Just a rock.
She tossed it in her hand, bored. "How about this. You walk the other way, and we pretend you're smart."
The warden with the sword stepped forward. "Girl, I'll give you to the count of three."
"Count any higher and you'll hurt yourself."
"Two."
Selaithe's grin dropped.
Her voice shifted. Lower. Sharper.
"One."
"You take another step," she said, "and I will cut your tongue out and shove it down your friend's throat."
They blinked.
She tilted her head, letting the torchlight hit her mauve-purple eyes just right. And in that moment, I saw it.
The other her.
The one made of blades and smoke and murder. The one she kept in the shadows behind her smile.
And so did they.
The crossbow guy raised his hands slightly. "Let's… maybe not."
"She's a bluffing kid, goddamit!" the leader shouted.
Selaithe took one step forward.
He stumbled back without realizing it.
I felt the mana crawl under my skin. Not spell-driven. Just raw energy. Like a threat the world hadn't named yet.
The lead warden growled, but backed off. "This isn't over."
"Tell that to your bladder," Selaithe said sweetly.
Then we ran.
Out of the alley. Through a brewer's yard. Past a stone archway where a painted lion watched the world burn. The city roared behind us—flames and voices and clanging bells.
"Where—?"
"East. Toward the hills. If we reach the old hunter trails before dawn, we're ghosts."
We slipped through a goat trail behind an old guardhouse, crawled beneath a rotted fence, and stumbled into the woods.
Darkness swallowed us whole.
No more cobblestone. No more screaming.
Just trees. Wind. Breathing.
We collapsed together beneath an ancient pine, gasping. I leaned my back against the bark and let my sword slide into my lap.
My hands were shaking.
Selaithe lay beside me, chest rising and falling like a tide. She didn't speak for a long time.
"You did good," she said. "Almost kept up."
"Wasn't… a race," I wheezed.
"No? Then why are you smiling like you just stole a kingdom?"
I hadn't noticed I was.
"You're insane."
She grinned, eyes half-lidded. "I like that you didn't stop me."
"You threatened to mutilate a city warden."
"I said I liked you, didn't I?"
"…You're terrifying."
"Thank you."
I exhaled, dragging my hand over my face.
She rolled to her side, resting her cheek on her elbow. "Hey."
"What."
"If they ever try to take you away—anyone—I'll burn half the world to find you."
I looked at her. Really looked.
She wasn't joking.
That scared me more than the fire.
More than the wardens.
But it also meant I wasn't alone.
Not ever again.
I didn't sleep that night.
And neither did she.
We just lay there, side by side, waiting for the world to catch up.
And when the sun finally rose—
We were already walking.
East.
Toward whatever waited.
Whatever hunted.
Whatever burned.
The forest didn't feel still.
It felt… paused.
Like the trees were holding their breath and the shadows were listening too closely. Every snapped twig felt like a shout. Every breath like a mistake.
I sat with my back against a crooked trunk, knees pulled to my chest, cloak wrapped tight. The night air cut through fabric like it had something to prove. Selaithe crouched near the small fire she'd coaxed into life, muttering curses at the flint like she was bargaining with an old enemy.
She poked it like she was punishing it for daring to flicker.
"You're staring again," she said, not even looking up.
"I'm thinking."
"Dangerous habit," she said, poking at the flame again. "Might catch fire."
"Funny."
"Only mildly."
She finally sat cross-legged, boots steaming faintly from the mud we'd slogged through earlier. Her face glowed gold and orange in the firelight, all sharp edges and softness at once.
I could still feel the city on my skin. The heat of the fire didn't wash it off. Tharionne clung to me like smoke—smoke in my lungs, my hair, behind my ribs. The sprint through alleys. The shouting. The cracked cobbles I'd almost tripped over. The way I saw Veyr's eyes cutting through the night like he already knew where I'd end up.
"Do you think we actually lost them?" I asked.
She tilted her head. "I think Veyr's the kind of bastard who doesn't like being disobeyed."
"So no."
"So no," she echoed.
My fingers found the sword Calden left me. Still wrapped, still heavy. I hadn't let go of it since we left. Not even to sleep.
"Do you think he meant it?" I asked.
She didn't need clarification.
"Yeah," she said. "He meant it. But the sword means he still wants you alive."
"Why?"
She hesitated. Then: "Because maybe a small part of him remembers what it's like. Being afraid. Wanting something more."
That sat between us like another ember, pulsing.
I didn't know what to say to that. I'd expected sarcasm, not… honesty.
She rolled onto her side, propped her chin up in one hand, and studied me like I was the last puzzle piece in a box missing half its corners.
"You ever think about marrying an elf girl with one and a half ears and deep commitment issues?"
I blinked. "What?"
She arched an eyebrow. "Just wondering. You know, planning my escape route if this whole 'on the run from powerful nobles' thing doesn't work out."
"We're seven," I deadpanned.
She grinned like I'd told her the greatest joke in the world. "So you're saying there's still a chance."
"You're completely insane."
"And you're avoiding the question."
"I didn't know it was a question."
"Oh, it was."
I couldn't help it—I laughed. A small, short breath that turned into something more.
Selaithe's smile softened. "There it is. I was starting to worry you'd turned entirely into brooding shadow-boy."
I shook my head, eyes half-closed. "And you're what? The chaos elf?"
"Exactly." She smirked. "Unhinged, unpredictable, aggressively loyal."
I looked at her again. Really looked. The hair falling messily around her face. The way she fiddled with the corner of her cloak when she thought I wasn't watching. That gleam in her eyes like she'd always known something I hadn't figured out yet.
And the weight behind all of it.
"You're not joking about killing someone for me, are you?" I asked.
She shrugged. "If they try to take you again? No. I'm not."
I believed her.
The silence returned—but it wasn't cold. It wrapped around us like another blanket. Not peace, not exactly. But something close. Something like shared breath and bent rules.
"Hey," she said suddenly, voice lower now. "Don't try anything stupid again."
"Like what?"
"Like using your magic mid-fight. Or drawing attention to yourself. Or thinking you're expendable."
My throat tightened.
"I wasn't planning to."
"Good." Her hand brushed my arm. Not a ruffle this time. Just… there. Steady.
"You're not boring, you know," she added. "You're a mess. But you're mine."
My breath caught.
"Yours?"
"You heard me." She flopped onto her back like she hadn't just dropped a rock into my chest. "Deal with it."
I stared at the trees. At the sky beyond.
There were no stars tonight. Just smoke. Thin and high.
And yet, I wasn't cold.
Even after she drifted off—arms folded behind her head, one boot still twitching like she was fighting someone in her sleep—I didn't sleep. Couldn't.
Because the silence didn't feel like safety anymore.
It felt like a warning waiting to become prophecy.
And I knew—deep down—that smoke doesn't vanish.
It just waits to rise again.