The birds didn't stop.
They threaded sound through everything—sharp chirps, layered calls, uneven rhythms that refused to settle into anything predictable. It should have been calming.
It wasn't.
It made the silence between them feel intentional, like something choosing when to breathe. I didn't like that.
The wind moved differently.
Cool, but not empty. It slipped through the trees, brushing leaves just enough to make them answer, then carried on, weaving through the open space of the campsite. It touched skin lightly, then left before it could linger.
Too brief.
I sat where they had left me.
Back against a pack. Wrists bound. Legs—
I looked down.
Or tried to.
The bandages were clean. Too clean. Wrapped tightly where there shouldn't have been anything to wrap anymore. The shape stopped too early.
Wrong length.
Wrong weight.
My stomach tightened.
I exhaled slowly.
It caught halfway through.
It had been supposed to be simple.
Dangerous, yes. Always dangerous. But simple in the way a clean plan is simple—move here, take this, leave before anyone notices. Risk understood. Measured. Accepted.
Not this.
Not… whatever this was.
My gaze lingered a moment longer before shifting away—not out of choice, but because it refused to stay.
That—
That wasn't normal.
"I am a girl now."
The words came out flat.
Not denial. Not acceptance.
Just… stated.
They didn't settle anywhere.
I waited for something to follow.
Nothing did.
I shifted slightly, or tried to. My weight moved unevenly, the ground pushing harder on one side than the other. The motion stopped halfway, collapsing into something awkward.
My breath tightened again.
I hated that.
"In about two hours."
I had heard them say that earlier.
Two hours for what?
Fixing it?
Worsening it?
Finishing whatever had already begun?
The thought didn't hold. It slipped past before it could root.
Like everything else.
I looked up instead.
The sky still held that strange color—somewhere between pink and orange, soft but persistent. The moon remained, refusing to fade, holding its place beside the morning light like it belonged there.
The Sanguine Apex.
Best cover we'd had in months.
Crowds. Movement. Layers of distraction.
Perfect.
Or it should have been.
"It is better," I murmured.
The words felt wrong the moment they left.
Better than what?
Dead?
Caught?
I didn't know.
I shifted again, testing balance, testing absence. The lack of response didn't come as shock anymore.
Just confirmation.
That might've been worse.
"Trying to convert Concord currency would have been more problematic," I added quietly.
That sounded more stable.
Safer.
Something I could hold onto.
I glanced upward again, squinting slightly.
"I wonder what the time is."
No watch.
No reference.
Just the sky.
The color hadn't deepened much.
"It's likely nine," I decided.
Close enough.
Or maybe not.
A branch snapped.
The sound cut through everything—too sharp to belong to wind, too deliberate to ignore.
My head turned before the thought followed.
I scanned the tree line, then shifted my gaze toward the Concord employee still in view.
The one with the sword stood further out, posture unchanged, attention outward. The other—the one who had been writing—sat with his bag nearby, movements smaller, quieter.
The two women were gone.
That—
That was bad.
The space they left felt wider than it should have.
"Kidnapping him would be quite the pay," I thought.
The idea came easily.
Too easily.
I didn't trust how quickly it formed.
But we had known better.
Always know your limits.
The air settled again.
Too quickly.
My eyes drifted to the bag.
The satchel.
The book was inside.
I knew it.
Not guessed.
Known.
That certainty felt wrong.
Worth what?
Five hundred thousand? Seven?
More?
"We could split that," I murmured.
My fingers twitched against the bindings, testing tension. Rough rope. Tight, but not cutting. Whoever tied it understood restraint—secure without waste.
Professional.
"I could pay for Dely and Aisyah's education."
That thought came softer.
More real.
"And we could afford more shades of red for the festival."
That one brought something else.
A smile.
Small.
Unintended.
Emin would like that.
He always did.
I caught it as it formed.
The smile faded slowly, not sharply—like something being pulled back rather than dropped.
That felt… distant.
They weren't watching me.
Not directly.
The two remaining Concord members had settled into their own rhythm—aware, but not focused. Their attention moved across the space, never anchoring.
I exhaled carefully.
Deliberately.
My hands shifted again, this time toward my hair.
Longer now.
Still unfamiliar.
That part—
Still wrong.
But the motion—
Familiar.
I gathered it. Fingers working through it with practiced ease. Pulling it back. Twisting. Securing.
A bun.
Aisyah's style.
Simple.
Clean.
Done without needing to look.
That felt too easy.
"Swish—"
Something cut through the air.
Fast.
Too fast.
"Clang—"
Metal struck something solid. The sound rang sharp, splitting the moment cleanly in two.
And then—
They were there.
Not arriving.
Present.
Like they had been standing just outside perception the entire time and finally stepped into it.
That made my chest tighten.
"Concord," a voice called.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
"It's the Crimson celebration. I'm sure you'd want to celebrate with family."
My chest tightened further.
"Emin?"
The name slipped out before I could stop it.
Too fast.
"Emin, is that you?"
Heads turned.
Not just his.
The Concord didn't move.
Not immediately.
The one with the bag shifted first. His hand moved—smooth, controlled. A gun appeared, held low but ready.
Figures stepped out from the trees.
One.
Two.
Then more.
They spaced themselves carefully. Not rushing. Not clustering.
Encircling.
Weapons drawn—but not fully raised.
Distance maintained.
They understood.
Of course they did.
"What did they do to you?" Halid asked.
He moved fast—too fast for the others to intercept before he reached me. His gun remained angled outward even as he dropped slightly to my level, eyes scanning, trying to resolve what he was seeing.
"They have colleagues," I said quickly.
My voice came out rough. I swallowed, forcing it steady.
"Two women. I don't know where they are. They also have backup that should have arrived."
Halid's expression tightened.
Not fear.
Calculation.
Good.
"We need the book," I added, nodding toward the satchel. "In that man's bag."
My gaze shifted to Emin.
He stood further back, posture straight, attention moving between targets. He gave a small signal—barely visible.
Two of the crew peeled away, slipping back toward the trees.
"You killing here is a real possibility," Halid said, voice louder now, directed at the Concord. "Just give us the book and we'll be on our way."
No response.
Not spoken.
But the shift was there.
Subtle.
The man with the sword adjusted his stance—half a step at most. Weight redistributed.
Ready.
Distance held.
Time stretched.
Too quiet.
"Camero… is that you?"
Another voice.
Closer.
Hands grabbed my arm, pulling me slightly forward, away from the pack.
The grip was firm.
Not rough.
"What happened to you?"
I didn't answer.
Didn't know how.
Didn't think there was a clean answer.
"Bang—"
The gunshot tore through everything.
Sound slammed into the space, followed immediately by the smell—sharp, metallic, unmistakable.
Everyone moved.
Not all at once—but fast enough to blur.
Weapons came up.
Stances broke.
"They're escaping!" someone shouted.
Another shot followed.
Direction unclear.
Intention wasn't.
The world tilted.
Not visibly.
Internally.
My vision held—but something behind it shifted.
My hands—
Heavy.
Too heavy.
Like they didn't belong to me anymore.
No—
That wasn't right.
My arms followed.
Weight pulling downward without reason.
My breath caught.
"Something is—"
The words didn't finish.
They dissolved.
Like everything else was starting to.