Tadewi's tent felt smaller than usual.
Not physically.
But because of what sat between us.
The harbor.
The king.
The truth we were circling without yet touching directly.
Willow stood near the back, arms crossed tight across her chest, her expression pulled thin with tension she wasn't bothering to hide anymore.
Revik leaned against one of the central poles, arms folded, watching all of us like he expected something to go wrong at any moment.
Muir sat on a low cushion, elbow resting on his knee, fingers pressed lightly against his mouth as he thought.
And me—
I stood.
Because sitting felt like waiting.
And I was done waiting.
"We can't keep going down there," Willow said sharply. "Not like this."
"She's right," Revik added. "Too many eyes. Too many guards."
Muir exhaled slowly. "And now they're watching me."
"They were containing you," I corrected.
His jaw tightened slightly.
"Yeah," he muttered. "I noticed."
Silence followed.
Not uncertain.
Calculating.
Because we all knew the truth now:
The docks weren't safe for us anymore.
Which meant—
We needed someone who could go where we couldn't.
Tadewi set her cup down.
Soft.
Deliberate.
"There is another way," she said.
Every head turned toward her.
I didn't like the calm in her voice.
Not this kind of calm.
Not the kind that meant she had already decided.
"Orenda," she said.
My stomach dropped.
"No."
The word came out immediately.
Sharp.
Final.
Tadewi didn't react.
"She is small," Tadewi continued. "Unnoticed. Already familiar with moving through the lower districts."
"She's a child," I snapped.
"She is a survivor," Tadewi corrected calmly.
"That doesn't make it right."
"No," Tadewi said. "It makes it possible."
I stepped forward.
"She doesn't go anywhere near those docks."
Tadewi's gaze met mine fully now.
Steady.
Unyielding.
"You are not her keeper, Lyra."
Something in my chest tightened.
"I won't send her back into something like that."
"You will not send her anywhere," Tadewi replied.
A pause.
Then, softer—
"Because that choice is not yours to make."
I went still.
The words hit harder than I expected.
Not because they were harsh.
Because they were true.
Tadewi turned slightly toward the tent entrance.
"Orenda," she called.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
A small figure stepped quietly inside.
Orenda.
She moved like she always did.
Careful.
Light.
Like the world might still punish her for taking up too much space.
Her eyes flicked around the tent, taking in everyone before settling—briefly—on me.
I forced my posture to soften.
Tried to push the edge out of my voice.
Tried not to let her see the fear sitting just beneath it.
Tadewi knelt slightly so she was closer to Orenda's level.
"There is something I would ask of you," she said gently.
Not commanding.
Not instructing.
Asking.
Orenda tilted her head slightly.
Listening.
Tadewi continued.
"There are places in the harbor where people speak when they think no one important is listening."
Orenda's fingers curled slightly at her sides.
"You are small," Tadewi said. "And quiet. You can move through those spaces without being noticed."
A pause.
"You could hear things we cannot."
Orenda didn't move.
Didn't react.
Just listened.
Tadewi's voice softened further.
"But this is not something you must do."
She held Orenda's gaze.
"You always have a choice."
Silence filled the tent.
Heavy.
Waiting.
I stepped forward without thinking.
"You don't have to do this," I said, my voice quieter now.
Orenda looked at me.
Really looked.
I swallowed.
"They took enough from you already," I added.
My chest tightened as I said it.
Because we all knew what "they" meant.
Her voice.
Her safety.
Her childhood.
Gone.
Because of the same kind of men we were trying to stop.
Orenda's expression didn't break.
Didn't crumble.
Didn't soften.
Instead—
She stepped forward.
Past Tadewi.
Past the tension.
And stopped in front of me.
For a second, I didn't understand what she was doing.
Then she reached into the small pouch at her side.
Pulled out a folded scrap of parchment.
And a piece of charcoal.
Her movements were steady.
Deliberate.
She didn't rush.
Didn't hesitate.
She wrote.
The charcoal scratched softly against the paper.
The sound filled the entire tent.
Because no one else dared speak.
When she finished, she folded it once.
Then held it out to me.
I took it carefully.
Like it might break.
Or I might.
I opened it.
And read.
They took my voice.
But they will not take away my spirit.
My breath caught.
The words blurred for a second before I forced my vision to steady.
I looked up at her.
Orenda didn't look afraid.
Didn't look uncertain.
She looked—
resolved.
And something inside my chest shifted.
Not protective.
Not anymore.
Proud.
And terrified.
Because this—
This was what fighting looked like.
Not loud.
Not powerful.
Just—
refusing to be broken.
I crouched slightly so we were level.
"You're sure?" I asked quietly.
She nodded.
Once.
Certain.
I exhaled slowly.
Then reached out and adjusted the edge of her cloak.
Small.
Instinctive.
"You stay where there are people," I said. "You don't go anywhere alone."
She nodded again.
"And if anything feels wrong—anything—you leave. Immediately."
Another nod.
I held her gaze for a second longer.
Then—
"…okay," I said.
The word felt heavier than it should.
Tadewi stood.
The decision was made.
"We meet again tomorrow," she said. "With whatever we learn."
Everyone nodded.
No more discussion.
No more debate.
Just movement.
Forward.
The air outside felt colder.
Sharper.
Because something had changed.
I didn't stay near the tent.
Didn't want to sit with it.
Didn't want to think about the fact that we had just asked a child to step back into the shadows she had escaped from.
Instead—
I walked.
Toward the training ring.
I didn't make it there alone.
Of course I didn't.
"You're walking like you're about to punch someone," Muir said from behind me.
Revik followed a step behind him.
I didn't slow.
"Good," I muttered. "Then I take it you're volunteering yourself for the task."
Muir snorted.
"There she is."
The training ring was empty.
For once.
Muir stepped in first, already pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside like the cold didn't exist.
I tried not to look.
I failed.
Briefly.
Because—
Gods.
The man may be more slender than Raiden, but he was still built like he fought for a living.
Which he did.
Annoyingly well.
"You're staring," he said casually.
"I'm assessing my opponent."
"Mm," he hummed. "Enjoy the view."
I rolled my eyes and stepped into the ring.
"Try not to cry when you lose."
Revik snorted.
"Please let her knock you out."
"Not a chance."
Muir moved first.
Fast.
I met him head-on.
No magic.
Just movement.
Hands.
Weight.
Balance.
We clashed in the center of the ring, feet sliding across packed dirt as we tested each other's footing.
He went for a grab.
I twisted.
He adjusted.
I ducked under his arm—
And he caught me anyway.
Slippery bastard.
His arm locked around my shoulders, pulling me back into a headlock.
"Got you," he said, far too pleased with himself.
I braced my feet, pushing back.
"Barely."
Behind my ribs—
Something flickered.
Sharp.
I stilled for half a second.
Annoyance.
Not mine.
The thread.
I almost laughed.
Oh.
That was interesting.
I drove my elbow back into Muir's ribs.
He grunted.
Loosened just enough.
I twisted sharply, slipping out and pivoting—
Only for him to grab my wrist and drag me forward again.
This time, he used my momentum.
I hit the ground.
Hard.
Air knocked from my lungs.
Muir followed me down instantly, bracing himself above me, one hand planted beside my head.
Grinning.
Infuriating.
"You were saying?" he said.
I glared up at him.
"Get off."
"Or what?"
The thread pulsed again.
Stronger.
I smirked slightly.
Then shifted my weight—
Hooked my leg—
And flipped him.
He hit the ground with a surprised laugh as I rolled over him, pinning him instead.
"Or that," I said.
Revik barked a laugh.
"Finally."
The annoyance in the thread spiked.
I felt it.
Clear as anything.
And this time—
I couldn't help it.
I chuckled.
Muir blinked up at me.
"What?"
"Nothing," I said quickly, pushing off him.
"Right," he muttered. "That's not suspicious at all."
I offered him a hand.
He took it, letting me pull him up.
"Again?" he asked.
"Later," I said.
"I need a blade."
Revik perked up immediately.
"Oh good. My turn."
"Get your feet moving," I shot back.
We grabbed practice swords.
Started again.
Steel against steel.
This time slower.
More focused.
More controlled.
And somewhere between strikes—
Between movement—
Between breath—
I felt it.
The ash.
Fine.
Black.
Clinging lightly to my sleeve.
From the fire pit nearby.
I brushed it absently.
Then froze.
The color smeared faintly across the fabric.
Dark.
Dulling.
Concealing.
My pulse ticked once.
An idea forming.
Sharp.
Clean.
Dangerous.
Revik swung.
I blocked automatically.
But my focus had shifted.
Hair.
Recognition.
Visibility.
Gone.
Just like that.
I stepped back.
Lowered my blade.
"I've got it," I said.
Muir frowned.
"Got what?"
I looked at the ash.
Then back at him.
"A way into the harbor."
And behind my ribs—
The thread pulsed again.
Not annoyance this time.
Interest.
Good.
Let him watch.
I was just getting started.