They didn't stop running until the Cathedral's weight felt thinner behind them. The silence there was heavy enough to snap a neck. Here, at least, the air moved.
Riven dropped onto a slab of broken stone, gasping, sweat dripping off his chin. "Debt to a church. New low. What's next? Debt to a tree? To a rat?"
Kael leaned against the wall, chest burning. He still felt the missing piece of himself — the memory he'd given up. He couldn't even picture what it had been. That absence felt sharper than pain.
Seren sat cross-legged by the wall. She pulled her pouch out, spreading scraps across her knees. Some were clean, some smudged, some nearly falling apart. She began to write, quick and steady:
Cathedral demands. Tokens, memories, names. Tokens cheap. Memories heavy. Names fatal.
Kael watched her hand move. Her notes weren't just scraps anymore. They were turning into a record. Maybe her own counter-ledger.
Riven groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. "You're writing rules now? What's next, you gonna charge me for breaking them?"
Seren didn't look up. She wrote one more line and shoved it at him: Pay in stew.
Riven snorted, though the laugh came weak. "Fine. When we're out, first round's on me. Best stew in the city. None of this salted brick nonsense."
Kael almost smiled. Almost. His throat hurt too much for it to last.
The fire they built was small, fed with splinters they'd scavenged. Riven cooked the last of the bread, making a big show of waving it like a chef. Seren wrote idiot and dropped the paper into the fire. It curled to ash.
For a moment, Kael let himself rest. The Cathedral had taken from him. It would take more. But here, with a weak fire and scraps of bread, he felt something like defiance.
Then the stone shivered faint.
BOOOONG.
The gong rolled low through the corridors, softer now, patient. A reminder.
Riven groaned. "Even at dinner? Can't a man chew in peace?"
Seren scribbled, neat and small: Peace is rented here. She tore the note in half, tossed it into the fire.
Kael closed his eyes, listening to the fire crack and the echo fade. He thought of the Ledger, of the Cathedral, of the word carved into stone. Hollow.
They would pay again. They always did.
But tonight, they'd stolen a little silence for themselves.