The city felt wrong at dawn.
Riverbend usually hummed with the small sounds of waking—delivery trucks, the hiss of espresso machines—but that morning the air was too sharp, like glass waiting to break. I walked the damp streets with the silver feather tucked in my coat pocket, its slow pulse a secret only I could feel. Every beat whispered of the night before: Adrian's golden challenge, Elior's quiet plea, the bell-bright sound that had split the room in two.
I needed noise. Normal noise. I unlocked the café and forced myself through the motions—grinder on, beans poured, milk steamed—until the scent of coffee almost masked the phantom smell of roses.
Almost.
The door creaked open before I could flip the sign. Elior slipped inside, rain on his shoulders, eyes shadowed.
"You shouldn't be out alone," he said.
I set a cup on the counter a little too hard. "I'm not alone now."
He flinched at the edge in my voice, then softened. "The Concord felt the surge last night. They'll send an envoy."
"Envoy," I repeated. "That's a polite word for whatever they do when they're scared."
His jaw tightened but he didn't argue. Instead he reached across the counter, palm up, offering quiet steadiness. I stared at his hand but didn't take it.
"I keep thinking," I said, "you've both been guiding hearts for centuries. How many people never knew their choices weren't really theirs?"
Elior's fingers curled back slowly. "I nudge," he said. "Never force."
"But you decide where to nudge."
A muscle in his cheek twitched. "It's not like that."
"Isn't it?" My voice cracked. "Adrian says love is a cage. You say it's guidance. All I hear is control."
Before he could answer, the temperature in the room shifted—warmer, scented with smoke and roses.
Adrian stepped through the door without a sound, golden light ghosting the edges of his dark coat. "Morning," he said, casual as a regular ordering a latte. "Hope I'm not interrupting a lovers' quarrel."
Elior turned, green glow sparking around his shoulders. "You're trespassing."
"I was invited," Adrian said smoothly, eyes on me. "Weren't you thinking of me, Lila?"
I hated that he was right. Some part of me had been.
"Enough games," Elior said. "What do you want?"
Adrian's gaze slid toward the feather's faint gleam in my pocket. "The truth. For her to see what you serve. The Concord's envoy is already in Riverbend. They'll offer protection—then bind her tighter than any vow you've ever sworn."
He moved closer, each step measured, golden eyes never leaving mine. "You feel it, don't you? The cage closing. I can teach you how to stay free."
The feather throbbed against my ribs, heat and light spreading through me. For a moment the room shimmered—silver, green, and gold threads tangling until I couldn't tell which belonged to whom.
Elior's voice broke through, low but fierce. "Freedom isn't destruction."
"And obedience isn't love," Adrian countered.
Something inside me snapped. "Stop." The word rang out sharper than I intended, and the feather flared so bright it lit every shadow. Both men froze.
"I don't need a savior," I said, breathless. "Not from Concord rules. Not from golden promises. I will choose my own heart."
Silence settled, heavy as stone.
Adrian's expression softened—almost wonder, almost pain. "That," he said quietly, "is exactly why they fear you."
Elior exhaled, the green around him dimming. "Then we stand with your choice," he murmured, though a trace of sorrow threaded the words.
The feather's glow faded to a gentle silver, its heartbeat slow and steady like my own.
Outside, church bells tolled the hour, distant and cold. Somewhere in that echo, I felt another presence—a third ripple of power moving closer, deliberate and unseen.
The envoy.
Adrian straightened, golden light sharpening. Elior's shoulders squared.
The next move wouldn't be mine.