The streets of the holy quarter glimmered faintly beneath the light of the floating lanterns, their soft radiance catching on the pale marble walkways.
It was late enough that most of the faithful had returned to their homes, yet the city was not silent.
A quiet hum lingered in the air—merchant carts being packed away, distant bells tolling from the temple spires, and the faint hiss of incense drifting through the night breeze.
Lysera walked with purpose, her long strides steady against the echo of her boots on stone.
Beside her, Irielle kept pace, her arms folded, the line of her mouth tight.
Neither had spoken much since leaving the house; the urgency of the matter left little room for small talk.
Halfway to the High Priestess's residence, a figure detached itself from the shadows near the mouth of a side street.
Evaya stepped into their path, the golden trim of her uniform catching the lamplight.
"You two look like you're about to start a war."
