Sleep never fully claimed me.
My body had rested, maybe. My mind hadn't loosened its grip long enough to follow. Every breath felt shallow, like surfacing too early from something that hadn't finished with me.
Amber shifted beside me as the warehouse responded—wood settling, beams complaining in a way that had nothing to do with wind. I felt it then, the pressure blooming low in my chest, slow and insistent, like something heavy pressing down without touching skin.
Luna was already standing.
She simply was—near the stacked crates, posture straight, balanced, as if the ground had already warned her.
Her fingers curled once at her side, then relaxed, as if she were setting a limit on how much force she intended to release.
"Be ready," she said without looking at us.
Her voice didn't waver. It carried the quiet certainty of someone who had already accepted what the next moments would cost.
Outside, Solis was waking in pieces.
Not the way cities usually did. No birds. No calls. No argument between night and morning. Just a low, layered hum spreading through the streets—metal meeting stone, stone yielding to order. Movement without haste. Coordination without noise.
Something vast was being aligned.
My heartbeat lost its rhythm. Not faster. Heavier. Each pulse landed like a reminder that my body was still here, still breakable.
"He's here."
Her words didn't feel like a realization. They felt like an admission.
Luna inclined her head.
Outside, the hum deepened. Not louder. Closer.
Silence snapped into place.
Not absence—control. The kind that erased excess.
The warehouse doors opened.
Everything tightened.
The air thickened, like the space between moments had narrowed.
He stepped forward, alone.
Red.
Not the dull crimson of dried blood, but something deeper—intentional. The same shade as Luna's blindfold. A long tunic draped his frame, unmarked. Untouched. As if nothing had ever reached him.
White hair fell down his back, straight and unbroken, snow caught mid-fall. His face bore no scars. No excess. An adult's face, sharp with experience. Two long swords rested crossed against his back, delicate in shape, their lines too perfect to be decorative.
But his eyes… They knew.
The pressure inside me spiked inevitability.
My legs locked. The thing inside me—the thing that had answered before—curled inward, silent.
Korr stepped farther inside.
Not enough to close the distance—just enough to claim it.
The red of his tunic drank the lamplight as he moved, fabric shifting without sound. The doors remained open behind him, framing his silhouette in pale morning-dark, the exit reduced to a concept rather than a path.
"I'd like the report."
His voice was calm. Cultured. Almost mild.
"From you, Luna."
The way he said her name carried familiarity without warmth.
Luna didn't answer at once.
She turned to face him fully. Her posture remained precise, but I saw it then—the smallest delay before her shoulders settled, the fraction of a second it took to lock herself back into place.
"No Guild members survived."
Her voice held. Barely.
Korr's gaze never left her.
"The Guildmaster. Kahn. He escaped."
A pause.
The kind that waited to be answered with force.
"Kael was a failure. He's dead."
Something flickered behind Korr's eyes.
Not surprise.
"And?"
Luna's fingers moved.
From within her cloak, she produced the medallion.
The Guild insignia caught the light as it swung once, then settled against her palm.
"The only remaining connection is the boy."
Her hand angled just enough toward me.
"It was found with him."
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then Korr laughed.
The sound didn't burst out of him. It unfolded. Slow. Measured. Like something carefully unwrapped.
"Absurd," he said softly.
The word echoed wrong in the warehouse, bending as it traveled.
He took another step forward.
I felt it immediately—my vision narrowing and my shoulders getting heavier.
Amber's breath hitched beside me. Not a gasp—worse. Like her lungs had forgotten the next step.
Korr's smile lingered.
"Do you know how much was invested in Kael?"
Luna didn't answer. She didn't have the courage.
"You know the numbers," he went on. "You were there." His head tilted slightly.
Her breath caught. Just once.
"Years of training, and you bring me this?" His gaze flicked to the medallion. Dismissive. "A Hound and a trinket?"
Luna's hand trembled. Not much. But it did.
I saw her weight shift—subtle, instinctive. Not toward me. Not toward Amber.
Toward the door. The only exit.
"Kahn held irreplaceable knowledge," Korr continued, voice lowering. Each word pressed harder than the last. "His understanding of Gemina. He was not optional."
The space between them closed even without moving.
Luna's fingers tightened around the medallion until the chain bit into her skin.
"You disappoint me."
The words landed like a verdict. Silence stretched, thick and brittle.
Fear had found her, and it had nowhere left to go.
Korr's gaze drifted past Luna. Not to me nor to Amber. But to the empty space at our wrists.
"How generous," he said mildly.
Luna didn't turn. Didn't react.
But I felt it then—sharp, unmistakable.
Intent.
Murder.
It bled out of her in thin, controlled threads, the kind you only noticed if you were already listening for them.
Korr noticed. Of course he did.
His eyes returned to Luna.
"Do you know what that tells me?"
Her silence was an answer.
"It tells me you're thinking… And when you think like this—"
He lifted a hand, gesturing vaguely between them.
"That impulse."
He took a slow step closer.
Amber made a sound beside me—small, involuntary. I felt her chest stutter against my arm, breath catching like it had struck something solid.
"Even when you were smaller. Even when you screamed less."
Luna flinched. Not backward. Inward.
His head tilted as if he felt sorry for her.
"Did it not hurt enough?"
Luna's breath came shallow now. Forced.
"Or," he added, "do you need a reminder?"
The words landed.
Something inside her cracked.
I saw it in the tension of her shoulders, the way her restraint shifted from discipline to strain. Rage leaked through the seams, hot and bright and barely contained.
Korr watched it happen. Evaluated it.
His gaze sharpened.
"Tell me, Luna—"
He leaned in just enough for the question to become intimate.
"Is it worth keeping a disobedient hound?"
That did it. Her teeth sank into her lower lip.
Hard.
Blood bloomed instantly—too red against skin gone pale, a violent contrast. She didn't release it. Didn't wipe it away. The taste of iron seemed to ground her, anchor the fury surging up her spine.
Her hands shook.
Not with fear.
With restraint failing.
I felt it then—raw, lethal intent spilling fully into the air. The space between her and Korr vibrated with it, like a drawn wire stretched too tight.
Korr's hand lifted—
And then—
A sound tore through the city.
Not a shout. Not steel.
A deep, concussive impact that rolled through the streets and slammed into the warehouse like a physical force. The ground shuddered beneath our feet. Crates rattled. Dust burst from the rafters in choking clouds.
Amber cried out as the floor lurched.
I staggered, catching myself against the wall as another tremor followed—closer and heavier this time.
Korr turned toward the open doors.
For the first time since he arrived, something else had claimed his attention.
That was all the opening Luna needed.
She moved decisively and fast.
The air screamed as it answered her—wind collapsing inward, condensing, shaping itself between her palms. A dagger formed there, thin and vibrating, its edge unstable and hungry.
She didn't shout or hesitate. She jumped straight for his throat.
The distance vanished.
Korr didn't look at her. Didn't draw a sword. Didn't even turn his head.
His hand came up—backhanded, casual, precise. As if correcting a reflex.
It struck Luna's face mid-air.
Her body snapped sideways, momentum stolen and rewritten, flung across the warehouse like something discarded. She hit the stacked crates hard enough to splinter wood, the crash echoing sharp. Boxes collapsed around her. Dust swallowed her whole.
We couldn't hear her move anymore.
Silence rushed in to fill the space she'd left behind.
Korr stood exactly where he had been.
His hand lowered.
Felt like violence has been as meaningless to him as breathing.
Then he turned his head and looked back. The expression that crossed his face wasn't calm, it was angry—personal, intimate, old.
Then another impact rolled through the city.
Stronger. Closer.
The ground bucked beneath us. The warehouse groaned, beams crying out as stress rippled through. Dust poured from above in thick sheets, turning the air heavy.
Korr turned back toward the open doors. Whatever was happening outside had finally earned priority.
He walked toward it unhurried.
Each step steady despite the tremors, as if the ground had learned to move around him instead of the other way around. The red of his tunic barely stirred.
Even gone, the space he'd occupied refused to relax. Slowly. Like a weight being removed one finger at a time.
Only then did I realize my lungs had locked.
I dragged air in, sharp and burning.
"Luna—" Amber's voice broke as she said it.
My legs felt wrong—too light, too slow—but adrenaline forced them forward anyway. We crossed the warehouse, debris crunching underfoot, dust sticking to my tongue.
The crates had collapsed, Luna lost among the wreckage, half buried in splintered wood, unmoving.
"Luna." Amber said again, dropping to her knees.
Her chest rose.
Barely.
Amber was already there, hands hovering, afraid to touch, afraid not to.
When I followed her shocked gaze.
The lie was gone.