"Fantastic," Mikhailis said, raising his hands in a mock toast. "Couldn't they be slow and corrupt like normal guards?"
Serelith, crouched by a supply crate, giggled—sharp and breathless. "You never appreciate proper villains, sweet prince." She shoved pink curls behind one ear, eyes sparkling with manic delight. "But I may have toys."
Her slender fingers snapped two iron latches. Inside the crate, glass spheres nested in straw, each one glowing faintly violet. Tiny glyphs crawled over their surfaces like silver vines.
"Lab-grade flash-pods." Serelith's grin widened. "Borrowed, accidentally."
Cerys pushed loose hair from her eyes. "We'll sort blame later—toss them on my mark."
The air crackled with tension. Lantern beams from the lead cutter swept the fog, searching. Their oars dipped in perfect rhythm—slap, pull, slap—like a giant heartbeat gaining on prey.
