A few hours later, the capital was already far behind us.
The air changed first—less smoke, less rot, more damp earth and half-kept roads. The towns ahead of the capital were quieter, poorer, and far more honest in their desperation. No marble here. No banners. Just wooden signs creaking in the wind and lanterns that burned because darkness was dangerous, not decorative.
Henry walked beside me, cloak drawn tight, one hand never straying far from the hilt of his blade. He didn't ask questions. He never did when my expression sharpened like this. That alone told me he understood how deep we were already wading.
Raya and Chubby were silent inside my magic pouch.
Alive. Alert. I touched the clasp briefly, sending a whisper of intent through the binding. Spy for dark magic. Forbidden magic. Be wary of those who look too normal. Watching eyes hide in ordinary faces. A faint pulse answered me—Chubby's acknowledgment thick and eager, Raya's colder, more precise.
