It moved too fluid, too silent. Like smoke with a will of its own. It slipped through the trees, then soared upward—swift, with purpose—and entered Kaya's gate without even touching it.
No creak. No sound.
Its dark, shapeless form hovered just inside the entry, and then—it stilled.
Its gaze—if something like that could have eyes—slowly turned toward the door. The one they had closed in such a hurry. The fabric curtain still fluttered slightly from the cold rush of wind they left behind.
It stared at it.
Long. Still. Watching.
As if it could hear the echo of Kaya's voice.
As if it could smell the last trace of warmth.
Then, the shadow tilted upward… and looked toward the sky.
The same sky they had disappeared into just moments ago.
It didn't move.
.
.
.
They had been flying for about ten minutes—high above the forest, just a blur in the pale morning sky—when Veer suddenly bared his teeth and muttered under his breath, "Damn it… not now."
