The Mastiff's corpse still smoked, a mist of black essence rising from its gaping maw. Alka remained still, listening to the frantic beats of her heart calm down. The stigma on her collarbone was now just a painful ember, a searing reminder of her expenditure. And of the witness.
Elian had fled. But the fear she had seen in his eyes – that terror mixed with revulsion – was a seed that could germinate. A rumor. A denunciation. Her invisibility, so carefully cultivated, had just cracked.
She clenched her fists, her nails digging half-moons into her palms. No. She wouldn't let that happen. Not now. Not when she was so close.
She returned to camp with calculated slowness. The fires crackled, casting dancing shadows on the weary faces of the soldiers. She felt their eyes on her. Normal? Or more intent? She strained her senses, but her reservoir was too empty, her power too weak to perceive the nuances. The uncertainty was a poison.
