The campfire smoke stung Kael's eyes long before he and the others stepped into the circle of tents. Walkers clustered around pots of thin stew, eyes hollow, tokens clinking like nervous teeth.
They looked up as the trio entered. Then they looked longer. Not at their faces. At the glow under their skin.
A murmur rippled through the camp. "Cathedral debtors."
Kael felt the words stick like thorns. Riven stiffened, hand going to his sword. Seren's pencil scratched fast: Don't draw more notice. She shoved the scrap at him before he could speak.
Riven scowled but stuffed the note into his pocket, jaw tight.
A man by the stew pot shifted aside, muttering, "Keep them away. Marks spread."
Another woman hissed, "No. The Ledger chooses. Don't touch them."
Kael lowered his hood, throat raw but steady. He didn't say anything. Words here would only add lines to the page.
Then a voice cut sharp and familiar.
"Well, well. My favorite collectors."
Lyra sat by the largest tent, tokens stacked neat in front of her, fingers tapping like a rhythm. Her smile was bright and sharp, as if she'd been waiting.
"You look heavier," she said, tilting her head. "Let me guess — the Cathedral gave you its blessing. Or maybe its leash."
Riven growled. "Fuck off, Lyra."
She ignored him, eyes locked on Kael. "Warden notice is rare. Do you know what that means?" She leaned forward, voice soft enough to cut. "You're not just walkers anymore. You're being written. The Ledger sees you as characters in its story."
Kael's chest tightened. He thought of the wall with his name carved deep, of the slips of paper glowing with Kael — Hollow. Twice Marked.
Lyra's smile grew. "That makes you dangerous. People follow names that stay. People also hunt them." She stacked another token, the clink like a bell. "I'd be careful if I were you."
Seren scribbled hard, shoved the scrap at Kael: Don't answer. Not here.
He folded it into his cloak. She was right. Speaking gave weight.
Riven muttered, "If she smirks any harder, her face will crack."
Lyra laughed, bright and cruel. "Oh, keep him close, Hollow. Every tragedy needs a fool."
The camp murmured again, the word echoing: Hollow. Some spoke it like a curse. Others like a prayer.
Kael's throat burned, but he said nothing.
The gong tolled, faint but heavy, rolling through the tents.
BOOOONG.
The stew pots shook. Conversations died. For a heartbeat the whole camp held still.
Lyra smiled into the silence, her eyes glinting. "See? Even the Cathedral listens."