Salt Fell Proper did not wait for them to decide.
The moment Ya Zhen said run, the forming resonance dome shuddered, one final inhale before sealing.
Ji Ming grabbed Sol's wrist.
Sol grabbed the Mirrorborn's sleeve.
And the three of them moved.
Not fast.
Not gracefully.
Just decisively.
The ground shifted beneath their feet as if rising to meet the choice.
Ji Ming drove his heel into the patch Sol had pointed out, the Inquisitor's blind angle where the pressure dipped. For a split-second, the air buckled. The dome's forming curve wavered.
Not much.
Not enough to collapse.
But enough to leave an opening exactly the width of three bodies passing in desperation.
Ji Ming shoved Sol through.
Sol yanked the Mirrorborn after her.
The field snapped shut behind them like a fist.
And Ya Zhen was still on the other side.
They didn't see her face.
They only saw the flare of her sigils igniting, silver, vermilion, then white-hot as she forced her qi outward against a technique designed to compress.
"GO!" her voice cracked across the salt, the force of it straining air itself.
The dome brightened, the pressure becoming almost visible as ripples in the atmosphere.
Then her silhouette blurred.
Struck?
Or striking?
Sol couldn't tell.
Ji Ming didn't look back.
He couldn't.
If he did, his feet would stop.
If he stopped, he would turn around.
And if he turned around, he would die.
He tightened his grip on Sol's wrist and ran harder.
Salt Fell Proper reacted to their flight not like a city… but like a host.
Streets narrowed as if pushing them forward.
Broken walls gave way just before Ji Ming's shoulder would have collided.
Salt-dust swirled ahead of them in spirals that marked safer paths through collapsing structures.
Sol stumbled once as the ground beneath her shifted, only to find a new step rising under her boot, sleek with crystalline reinforcement.
"The city's helping," she whispered, breath tearing at her throat.
"No," Ji Ming said. "It's choosing."
Behind them, a resounding crack split the air… resonance against resonance, two techniques colliding in a space too tight for either to breathe properly. The dome flickered.
Ya Zhen was still alive.
Or still fighting.
Sometimes, in Salt Fell, those were the same thing.
The Mirrorborn ran beside Sol now… no stumbling, no newborn awkwardness.
Its limbs moved with rhythm, the shape of a small child steadying under urgency.
Light pulsed in its chest, matching the beat of Sol's racing pulse… then Ji Ming's.
It was syncing to them.
It looked up at Sol mid-stride.
"…hurt…?" it asked, voice disjointed but clearer.
"I'm fine," she panted. "Just keep going."
Ji Ming jumped over a collapsed cart, dragging Sol with him. The Mirrorborn followed by placing a hand on the debris, turning the entire top of it smooth for an instant, a tiny moment of forgetting that allowed its foot to land cleanly.
Ji Ming noticed.
"That's new."
Sol nodded, breath ragged. "It's adapting. The more danger, the more it learns."
"Which means the Inquisitor will double his efforts to take it," Ji Ming said.
The Mirrorborn heard.
And its light flickered in a sudden, sharp pulse of fear.
"…don't… want… taken…"
"You won't be," Sol said, fierce even in exhaustion.
It looked at her.
A child's shape, a child's height.
But not a child.
Not truly.
"…believe…" it whispered.
They rounded a corner… and the air changed.
Sol felt it first.
A coldness that wasn't temperature.
A heaviness that wasn't weight.
A sense of something vast turning its attention.
The salt at their feet rippled outward in concentric rings, like water disturbed by a falling stone.
Ji Ming halted hard, arm snapping out to stop Sol.
"Wait."
The Mirrorborn froze instantly.
Ahead, the street narrowed into a corridor of half-fallen structures, tall walls, broken glass ribs, and a clear path leading deeper toward Salt Fell's center.
Too clear.
Too straight.
Ya Zhen's voice echoed from behind them, faint through distance and pressure:
"Don't go deeper!"
A tremor followed, louder now.
She was still alive.
Still fighting.
Still trying to warn them.
Sol's chest tightened. "Ji Ming… that path…"
"Is a funnel," he finished. "Designed to herd us."
The Mirrorborn pressed into Sol's side, shaking.
"…trap…"
"Yes," Ji Ming said. "A beautifully carved one."
But they had no time.
Behind them, the Inquisitor's dome flickered again—once, twice—
Then shattered.
A burst of resonance cracked the air like a glass bell.
Salt on the ground leapt.
Walls groaned.
A silhouette moved in the settling dust.
Sol's breath stopped.
Ji Ming's shoulders squared.
The Mirrorborn's light flashed with a terrified spike.
Ya Zhen stumbled into view, shirt torn, veil burned away, fan missing ribs… but still alive. Barely.
She held up two fingers.
A warning.
He's coming.
Sol ran to her before Ji Ming could stop her, catching Ya Zhen under the arm.
"Ya Zhen—"
"I said run," Ya Zhen gasped, blood at her lip. "I didn't say you're allowed to cry while doing it."
Ji Ming moved to her other side, bracing her weight as the ground trembled again.
"You held him off," he said.
"For a minute," she said. "Two, maybe. But he adapted faster than I could misdirect. That cage technique… if I hadn't burned my best sigils…"
"Later," Ji Ming cut in. "We need to move."
Ya Zhen looked up, eyes dark and sharp despite the pain.
"Then listen carefully," she said. "You do not take the straight path. You take the broken one."
Sol blinked. "Broken one?"
Ya Zhen grabbed Sol's chin lightly and turned her face upward.
Sol saw it then.
Above them, along the rooftops, salt residue glittered like frost patterns, arching in deliberate curves, pointing toward narrow alleys that twisted away from the main street.
A path.
Not safe.
But real.
"It's the route Red Couriers used when the city still had living gangs," Ya Zhen said. "Narrow walls… no resonance anchors. He'll have trouble tracking through it."
Ji Ming nodded instantly. "Then that's our way."
But Sol hesitated.
"Ya Zhen… can you even walk through that?"
"No," she said.
Ji Ming stiffened.
Sol's eyes widened.
The Mirrorborn stepped forward.
Then it crouched slightly, childlike arms lifted toward Ya Zhen.
Offering.
Carrying.
"…help…" it said softly. "…carry… you…"
Ya Zhen stared.
Then barked a pained laugh that almost folded her in half.
"You're offering to carry the spy who tried to leave you to die ten hours ago?"
"…my people…" it repeated.
Ya Zhen swallowed.
That was the moment she stopped protesting.
She let the Mirrorborn lift her, awkwardly but carefully, its new limbs stiff but strong.
Sol touched its shoulder in reassurance. "Thank you."
It glowed.
Warm.
Proud.
Ji Ming checked the alleyway, then nodded. "Go. Quickly."
They ran—
Not toward the trap.
Not toward the tower.
Not toward the Empire's neat, straight path.
But into the narrow, crooked ribs of the old city, where the salt remembered less and forgot more.
Behind them, the Inquisitor emerged from broken dust.
His mask gleamed cold.
His head turned toward the broken alley route.
A faint tilt.
Calculation.
"Fleeing will not alter termination sequence."
He stepped once.
The salt cracked beneath him.
And the chase began.