Morning did not arrive cleanly.
The city woke in layers, each sound overlapping the last without resolution. Bells rang too early in some districts and too late in others. Smoke drifted low, clinging to the streets as if unwilling to rise. Even the light seemed reluctant, filtered through dust and narrow alleys until it lost its clarity.
Aarinen was awake before the others.
He sat near the narrow window of their room at The Bent Nail, watching the street below. Merchants were already arranging goods, their movements practiced and tired. A pair of guards passed, speaking in low voices. Somewhere, a woman argued with a man who had already stopped listening.
Pain pressed lightly behind Aarinen's eyes.
Not sharp enough to force laughter.
Yet.
He breathed slowly, deliberately, grounding himself in the rhythm Eryna had taught him as children—inhale until the ache steadied, exhale until it loosened its grip. The laughter remained, coiled and waiting, but it did not rise.
Behind him, the floor creaked.
"You're awake," Eryna said.
He turned.
She stood near the door, already dressed, her posture alert but not tense. In the muted morning light, she looked almost ordinary. That, somehow, unsettled him more than her strangeness beneath the world.
"Couldn't sleep," he said. "The city keeps… thinking."
Eryna nodded. "It does that."
She joined him at the window, her gaze sweeping the street with quiet attention.
"They are afraid," she said. "Not of us. Of instability."
Aarinen smiled faintly. "That feels personal."
"It isn't," she replied. "Which is worse."
The others stirred gradually.
Torren woke with a groan, knocking over a stool in the process. Rafi sat up too quickly and immediately regretted it. Lirael emerged from a shallow trance, her eyes ringed with fatigue. Saevel was already awake, sharpening her blade with slow, precise strokes.
"We were watched last night," Saevel said without looking up.
Torren rubbed his face. "Of course we were."
"Three times," Saevel continued. "Once by the Watch. Once by something quieter. Once by someone who wanted to be seen."
Lirael frowned. "That last one concerns me most."
A knock came at the door.
Firm. Controlled.
Everyone froze.
Saevel stood smoothly, blade already in hand. Eryna raised a hand—not to stop her, but to steady the moment.
"I will speak," Eryna said.
She opened the door.
A different man stood there this time.
Older than Corven. Broader. His clothes bore the marks of rank, though he wore no insignia openly. His eyes were gray and tired, the eyes of someone who had survived too many compromises.
"Eryna," he said.
Not a question.
Aarinen's pulse jumped.
Eryna did not flinch.
"You know my name," she said calmly.
The man inclined his head. "I am Marshal Kethren. The city's Watch answers to me, in theory."
Torren muttered, "That's never reassuring."
Kethren's gaze flicked to him briefly, then returned to Eryna.
"You have caused disturbance," he said. "Not through violence. Through presence."
"That was not my intention," Eryna replied.
Kethren smiled thinly. "Intent rarely survives cities."
He stepped inside without waiting for permission.
Saevel did not block him.
That, Aarinen noted, was a choice.
"I am not here to arrest you," Kethren said. "Nor to threaten you."
"Then why are you here?" Lirael asked.
"Because higher authorities have begun asking questions," Kethren replied. "And I would prefer answers before they arrive."
Aarinen leaned back against the wall. "You could have led with that."
Kethren's gaze settled on him.
"And you," he said slowly, "are the one who laughs."
Aarinen felt the pressure spike.
He smiled anyway. "Sometimes."
Kethren studied him for a long moment.
"Pain-response inversion," he said quietly. "I have seen it once before."
Eryna's attention sharpened. "Where?"
"On a battlefield far east of here," Kethren replied. "The man did not survive long."
Aarinen's laughter bubbled up—brief, sharp.
"Good to know."
Kethren did not react.
"You are dangerous," he continued. "Not because you fight well. But because the world does not know how to interpret you."
"That's most people," Torren said.
Kethren shook his head. "No. Most people are predictable when cornered."
His eyes returned to Eryna.
"You are worse," he said. "Because the world hesitates around you."
Eryna met his gaze evenly. "Then you should let us pass through."
Kethren exhaled slowly.
"I would," he said. "If the city were not already tightening."
He turned toward the window.
"Three factions are moving," he said. "The Trade Council, the Dawn Cloister, and an unnamed party that prefers absence."
Lirael stiffened. "The Unnamed?"
Kethren nodded. "They do not announce themselves. They erase."
Rafi paled. "Erase?"
"Yes," Kethren said simply. "People. Records. Sometimes places."
Silence followed.
Eryna broke it.
"Why tell us this?" she asked.
Kethren turned back.
"Because you are already involved," he said. "And because I would rather not see this city become a proving ground."
Aarinen tilted his head. "For whom?"
"For forces that think in centuries," Kethren replied.
Eryna considered.
"We will leave," she said. "Soon."
Kethren nodded. "Good."
Then his gaze hardened.
"But understand this," he added. "Once you step beyond this city, you will not be able to remain undefined. You will be named. Claimed. Opposed."
Aarinen laughed softly.
"That keeps happening."
Kethren looked at him with something like respect.
"Yes," he said. "And each time, the cost rises."
He turned to go.
At the door, he paused.
"One more thing," he said without looking back. "The Weaver is not worshipped here."
Eryna's eyes narrowed. "What is, then?"
Kethren hesitated.
"Order," he said. "Stability. Continuity."
He left.
The door closed.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Rafi whispered, "I liked it better when fate was a story."
Lirael nodded. "Stories are kinder than systems."
Saevel sheathed her blade. "We need to move."
"Yes," Eryna agreed. "But not blindly."
Aarinen watched the city through the window again.
He felt it now—the subtle pull, the way threads brushed against him not as destiny, but as curiosity.
"They're already choosing sides," he said.
Eryna placed a hand on his shoulder.
"So are we," she replied.
Outside, the city continued its grinding rhythm, unaware that something fundamental had entered its pattern.
And somewhere beyond walls and councils and watches, other forces adjusted—not to correct the disturbance, but to test it.
The price of being unseen had been safety.
The price of being seen would be everything else.