The low hum of Emberwake's steam engine vibrated softly beneath their feet, the steady pulse of the boat grounding them to a moment that felt too still. The sunlight had begun to fade, casting long, shifting shadows across the wooden planks of the deck. Yet, despite the gentle rocking of the vessel, neither Isobel nor Sir. Wilkinson could find ease.
Sir. Wilkinson paced the length of the deck again, hands tight behind his back, his boots tapping against the wood with an impatient rhythm. The nervous energy around him was palpable, thickening the air in a way that made the hum of the engine feel distant and inconsequential.
Isobel leaned against the railing, watching him but not moving. Her hands were folded together in front of her, the stillness of her posture betraying the unease that was brewing inside. She wasn't as outwardly frantic as Wilkinson, but her gaze kept darting toward the horizon, where Dillaclor loomed just beyond their reach.
"Still no word," Sir. Wilkinson muttered, his voice a low growl of frustration. "This isn't right. They've been gone too long."
Isobel shifted her weight slightly, keeping her voice even despite the tightening in her chest. "They know what they're doing. They'll be back soon. Liora's led teams through Dillaclor more times than I can count. She's fine."
Wilkinson turned sharply toward her, his face tense with a growing anxiety that he could no longer hide. "They should have been back by now," he insisted, taking a few more steps toward the edge of the boat. His hand rested against the rail, fingers gripping the wood hard enough to whiten his knuckles. "I should have heard something."
Isobel sighed, straightening. "The city is a web of noise and movement. There are a thousand ways for something to go wrong without it being their fault. We wait."
"But we don't know what's happening inside." Sir. Wilkinson's voice cracked, betraying the fear that had begun to claw at his insides. "What if something's gone wrong? What if they're—"
Before he could finish, a sound interrupted the quiet, a firm set of boots making their way down the gangplank. The two of them turned quickly, their eyes scanning the entrance for signs of Liora.
But instead, they saw her first.
Liora was standing at the foot of the gangplank, her breath ragged, her face pale and drawn with worry. She hadn't even taken a full step onto the deck when her eyes locked onto theirs, full of frantic energy.
Her voice, when it came, was broken with the weight of something too heavy to carry alone. "Roald," she said, her tone already a little unsteady. "Has he returned?"
Isobel and Sir. Wilkinson shared a long look, and in that shared silence, the same dreadful certainty passed between them. Roald wasn't back.
Isobel's heart sank as she met Sir. Wilkinson's gaze, and the two of them silently confirmed what they both feared.
"No," Isobel answered quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "He hasn't."
Liora's eyes widened, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She looked between them both, searching for an explanation that they couldn't give. She opened her mouth to speak again, but no words came out. Her gaze flicked toward the horizon, back to the city that had swallowed them whole.
And then, just like that, Liora's composure broke. "No," she whispered, her voice cracking. She took a step backward, then another, her eyes wild with fear. "I have to go back. I need to find him. He's out there alone— I can't—I have to—"
Before she could take another step, Sir. Wilkinson moved quickly, his hand catching her arm to stop her.
"Liora, stop." His voice was firm, but his grip was gentle, as though he feared she might fall apart if he let go. "You're not thinking clearly. You can't just rush off without a plan."
Liora twisted against him, her chest rising in ragged breaths, her expression frantic. "I have to! I can't just—leave him out there. I can't—I—"
But Sir. Wilkinson held her tighter, pulling her into an embrace as she collapsed against him. Her body shook with a sob before she could control it. She clutched him, trying to steady herself, but the fear in her eyes was undeniable.
"Liora…" Sir. Wilkinson's voice softened as he pulled her closer. "We will find him. We'll search every corner of that city. And I will not let anyone tell us otherwise."
She didn't speak, but her trembling body pressed into him as her sobs faded into quiet gasps. There was no more protest, just the warmth of his comfort, even as they both feared the worst.
Isobel stood still, her arms crossed tightly in front of her, her face tight with a quiet storm. She stared out over the edge of Emberwake, the sinking sun casting a long shadow on her features. Anger and helplessness simmered beneath the surface as she silently promised herself one thing:
If they hurt him, I will make them pay.
Her hands clenched at her sides as the weight of what was happening settled in her chest. The uncertainty, the loss — it all swirled together.
But one thing was for certain:
They were not going to stop. Not until they found him. And whoever was responsible for taking him would answer for it.