The sun was coming up just as Korie gave up on resting. His trance had been full of traumas of the past, cycling through his mind endlessly. The snores of the others in the room made him want to slam his head against the wall with pure irritation, but he managed to hold it together long enough to leave without any idiotic self-inflicted injuries. To say he was stressed out would be an understatement and a half. He was suffocating on nothing, his heart picking up speed randomly, his hands clammy and constant goosebumps all over his skin. He tried not to shiver, but a few shakes went through his whole body anyway, refusing to be quelled by the promise of sleep.

  He couldn’t stand waiting any longer. After settling his payment at the bunkhouse, he stepped out into the cold, empty streets, the cold instantly sinking into his bones. It wasn’t new, but that day it made him feel slower, his movements stiff. His breath came out in white puffs, and the stress tightened in his chest. The chill only worsened his paranoia, dragging him down with each step. His pulse pounded in his ears, his thoughts racing ahead of his hurried steps. The town was still half-asleep, lanterns flickering weakly in the windows of shops, but he paid no mind to his surroundings. There was no more time to waste. He had already waited long enough.

  He slipped in through the rooftop window, a maneuver he had rehearsed before but never truly wanted to rely on. The attic, once his refuge, felt different now. It would no longer serve him as a safe hiding place, as a home. The cramped space, filled with the faint scent of old wood and dust, had become his space after all this time, despite him insisting on keeping few attachments.

  He moved slower than he had during his practice runs, his hands lingering on each item before tucking it away. It wasn’t hesitation; it was a silent farewell. The familiar creak of the floorboards, the dim light filtering through the cracks in the roof, the way the air always felt just a little too stale... It had all been his world. And now, he was leaving it behind.

  He located his stash of coin, roughly counting the crowns and was surprised to find that he'd had a lot more than anticipated. These were enough to pay for this month's rent that he owed, but that was all he had. He'd still have to stop by the Low Lantern, one way or the other, which he was not very happy about.

  He finished packing, securing the last of his belongings with a final, deliberate tug on the straps. With a quiet sigh, he hoisted his rucksack onto his shoulders, adjusting the weight until it sat comfortably against his back. He hooked his longbow at its side with one of the special straps, holding it in place.

  The relic was a marvel to behold. It was one of the very few items he'd brought with him in his escape. Forged from voidsteel and strung with nightsilk, the craftsmanship was stellar and it showed; the flexible yet durable wood, obsidian coloured, had a matte texture which felt satisfying to the touch and made it easier to grip, while the string was taut with a quiet energy, as though humming with restrained power.

  He left a bag of crowns downstairs and left without a goodbye. That family would not miss him, that much he knew.

  All that was left was to acquire his coat and whatever gold he was owed at the Low Lantern. He pulled the attic window shut behind him, ensuring no sign of his presence remained, then slipped down the rooftop with the ease of someone who had done this countless times before. The streets below were still quiet, the city barely stirring from its slumber, but he knew that wouldn’t last.

  Soon, merchants would open their stalls, beggars would take their places on the worn stone steps, and dock workers would flood the harbor, their shouts carrying over the water. He needed to move quickly. He adjusted the strap of his pack and pressed forward, keeping to the edges of the street where the uneven stones offered the best footing. The sooner he collected what was his, the sooner he could disappear before anyone noticed he was gone. Tarek's men would not be catching him that day; he would not allow it.

  He arrived at the Low Lantern before he even realized it, his feet carrying him there on instinct alone. The derealization and paranoia from the previous night had left their aftereffects, creating a skewed sense of time and reality overall. He would be fine. He just needed some gold. The tavern had already opened their doors for that morning, and Korie went inside without even looking at the old cook this time, laser focused on his goal. He grabbed his coat where he'd hung it up the night before and stepped into the tavern.

  ??

  Lyra woke before the world did.

  She wasn’t sure when exactly she had drifted into sleep, but it had been shallow, restless. A soldier’s sleep. One ear always open, her mind never truly at peace, thoughts circling endlessly around Nocturne, around Korie, around what she would do next. The room was cold, the thin blanket doing little to ward off the morning chill. She lay still for a moment, eyes open, staring at the uneven wooden beams of the ceiling. No use waiting.

  She shifted, stretching the stiffness from her muscles before pushing herself upright, swinging her legs over the edge of the cot. The floor was cool against her bare feet as she sat there, blinking against the dim light, listening. Nothing.

  Brimmond was silent.

  Not the restless murmur of a city just below sleep, but true silence, the kind that came just before dawn, when even the drunks had passed out and the merchants had yet to rise. No shuffling of carts, no distant calls of dockworkers - only the faintest whisper of the sea breeze slipping through the cracks in the wooden walls.

  Perfect.

  Lyra moved quickly, efficiently, securing her armour with the practiced ease of someone who had done it a thousand times before. Every strap, every buckle, every piece fitted into place as she readied herself for the day ahead. Her sword slid into its sheath with a soft snick, and she adjusted the weight at her hip before finally pulling her cloak around her shoulders. By the time she stepped out of her room, the inn was still asleep.

  The common room was empty, chairs stacked onto tables, the scent of stale ale and cold ash lingering in the air. She passed the innkeeper, who was slumped in a chair near the bar, head tilted back in restless sleep. He barely stirred as she moved past him, her boots making almost no sound against the wooden floor.

  Outside, the city was caught in that strange moment between night and morning, where everything was still, where the streets belonged only to the wind and the occasional stray cat. It was cold. The damp Brimmond air clung to her skin, mist curling in the narrow alleyways, rolling across the cobblestones like a ghostly tide. The lanterns that lined the streets had begun to burn low, their light flickering as if uncertain whether they still needed to keep the dark at bay. The usual scent of salt and fish still clung to the air, but it lacked the usual acrid staleness of too many bodies crowded into one space.

  This was what she had wanted. This was a good time to be moving. No eyes watching. No voices murmuring. Ahead of the waking city, ahead of him. Korie had slipped away from her once. She wouldn’t let that happen again.

  Most people were creatures of habit and if Korie had fled last night out of fear, he wouldn’t simply disappear. He worked at The Low Lantern. That meant he had obligations, a routine, a pattern. He could only avoid the inevitable for so long and she intended to make sure of it. If he hadn't returned - well, the staff who worked there would still be of use. She had learned long ago that people always talked, it was just a matter of how much pressure needed to be applied.

  By the time she reached The Low Lantern, the sun had barely begun to stretch its light over the horizon. The tavern stood as it had the night before - tall, its wooden sign swaying gently in the morning breeze, the lantern outside still burning dimly against the misty grey of dawn. She came to a slow stop a short distance from the entrance, her sharp eyes scanning the building, searching for any signs of life. Patience was a fickle thing, and hers had worn thin long ago. Lyra had spent too long chasing ghosts in the dark.

  The door to The Low Lantern gave way easily beneath her push, the hinges creaking softly as she stepped inside. Unlocked. Not surprising - taverns like these opened early, preparing for the morning crowd of weary sailors and merchants looking to eat before starting their day. The rich scent of breakfast wafted through the air, the unmistakable aroma of freshly baked bread, sizzling meat, and something faintly spiced filling the space. It smelled good. Tempting, even though Lyra knew she wouldn't be partaking. Her stomach was empty, but hunger was an afterthought. There were more pressing matters to attend to.

  The tavern was quiet, as expected this early in the morning. A few figures lingered, likely workers setting up for the day, arranging chairs and wiping down tables, speaking to each other in hushed tones. They barely spared her a glance as she stepped further inside. Good.

  She chose a seat in the shadows, a darkened corner near the back of the room, slipping into it with a practiced ease. From here, she could see the entrance, the bar, and the movement of the staff. She settled into the chair, shifting her cloak around her shoulders, appearing as nothing more than another weary traveller seeking solitude in the early hours.

  She wasn’t sure how long she would be sitting there, but luck, it seemed, had chosen to favour her that morning because she did not need to wait long. The door to the back rooms of the tavern opened, and there he was. Korie stepped inside, moving with a sense of purpose - so laser-focused that he didn’t even glance in her direction. Lyra, however, saw everything.

  The pack slung over his shoulder and the way it was secured, weighted, full. The longbow attached to it, unmistakably well-crafted, beautiful in its design. This was not the appearance of a man settling in for a normal day of work. He wasn’t planning on sticking around and Lyra’s fingers curled against the edge of the table. It was now or never. Before he could disappear into the back rooms, before he could slip away like he had the night before, she spoke, her voice carrying from the shadows.

  “Going somewhere?”

  Her voice was smooth, almost casual, but there was no mistaking the weight beneath it.

  A challenge. A warning.

  When his eyes flicked up to hers, she met his gaze evenly, unreadable, but before he could even think about bolting, she added, her tone quieter now, more measured:

  “I would appreciate it if you didn’t run. I just want information.”

  Her posture remained relaxed. She wasn’t blocking the door. She wasn’t reaching for her weapon. However, there was an unspoken truth in the way she was sitting, the way she watched him. She would chase him if he ran and this time, she wouldn’t lose him.

  He froze. His eyes scanned the room, immediately meeting hers, and he held his breath, blinking with a flash of panic crossing his expression. The woman from the night before sat languishing at one of the tables as though she'd been waiting for him all night, patient and unmoving. Her eyes were a piercing, haunting green, There was an intensity in her gaze, unwavering, almost unnerving, as if she could see straight through him. It wasn’t just the colour that made them so haunting; it was the way they studied him, serious and unyielding, as though weighing every unspoken word, every hidden thought.

  She freaked him out, rightfully so; who was she, and why was she so adamant in speaking to him about Tarek Nocturne, instead of outright attempting to take his life?

  Either way... It appeared the gods had other plans for him that day. Korie had no reason to obey them, however, as he eyed the front doors of the tavern with intent to flee, he could tell that Lyra had meant her words and would stand by them; she would not allow him to run, not this time. She may not have been openly threatening him, but her intentions were obvious. Try it and I won't stop until I catch you.

  He'd been standing by the bar when she called out to him, and he hesitantly approached her, standing at a distance. He wouldn't have had to deal with this woman if he'd been a little more careful, less panicked and aware of his environment, and he internally cursed himself for his loss of composure.

  "Is this truly necessary?" He spoke as he walked closer, his tone a bit harsh. He made sure to put himself between her and the door as he approached; if he did run, he wouldn't want her jumping in the way of his path.

  Lyra remained still as Korie moved, deliberate and calculated, positioning himself between her and the door. Not a nervous reaction. A tactical one. His retreat, if he needed it, would remain clear. Smart.

  "I know what you want. All you people do is take." His voice had an edge, not quite sharp enough to cut, but honed enough to strike a warning. His tone wasn’t just one of panic or pleading - there was something bitter in it, something solid, something that spoke of someone tired of this kind of encounter.

  That struck something in her, but she didn’t let it show. She wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by you people - nobles? Mercenaries? Humans? It could have been any of them. Maybe all of them. The words carried weight, accusation laced beneath them, bitterness tempered just enough to sound controlled - but not enough to disguise how deeply he meant them. Lyra had heard that kind of resentment before. It was the voice of someone who had lost more than they cared to admit, someone who had seen too much, been burned too many times. From those who had lost something they could never reclaim. Someone who knew that when people came asking questions, they rarely left without taking something with them.

  She didn’t flinch at his tone, didn’t bristle at the way he grouped her in with them, whoever they were. She had long since stopped caring about the opinions of others, and if Korie wanted to cast her in the same light as whoever had wronged him - then fine. Let him. She had bigger problems than his misgivings.

  His words were harsh, even confident, but no matter how firm he tried to sound his voice shook, the tremble of emotion. There was nothing brave about the way he was running from his problems and fearing for his life. He could not stand tall with honour and bravery, not when he could still remember the pain of being torn apart and put together again and again and again. The memories themselves, vivid and unshakable, sent a chill down his spine that no amount of warmth could chase away.

  He was never going back there. He'd rather die then and there than be returned to that wretched cult.

  The woman stared at him still, scrutinizing him with her sharp gaze. He wondered why she'd not spoken up to defend herself. "Fine, just..." Korie said, his shoulders tensing defensively and his tone soft and uncertain. He had no idea what she was getting at, or for what reason she was trying to have a conversation with him. However, if she tried anything suspicious, he'd immediately run without hesitation. "You want to know about Tarek?" he practically spat the name out, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Lyra should have had an answer for him, sharp and immediate, the kind that left no room for doubt but she didn’t. She opened her mouth, only to close it again, dragging her tongue across her teeth in frustration as she searched for the words that wouldn’t come.

  What did she want?

  The question gnawed at her, digging its claws into a space she had avoided confronting for far too long. The answer should have been simple.

  She wanted information about Tarek Nocturne.

  She wanted to know where he was.

  She wanted to know why.

  But the moment she tried to form the words, they felt wrong. Incomplete.

  Because it wasn’t just about a location. It wasn’t even just about the man. It was about everything. Everything he had done. Everything he had taken. Everything she had lost because of him. Every road she had walked, every whispered conversation, every lead followed into the dark - they all led back to him. No matter how far she went, how many different paths she tried to carve, it always came back to him and Lyra was sick of it. Sick of chasing a phantom. Sick of being caught in the web of his actions, of being forced to follow the consequences of a choice she hadn’t even made.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  She clenched her jaw, fingers curling slightly on the table.

  “…I need to know about him,” she said finally. The words weren’t sharp like she had meant them to be. They weren’t even laced with frustration, they were quieter.

  She let the name fall from her lips, deliberate, slow. “Tarek Nocturne.”

  The name felt heavy in the air, like something unwelcome in the quiet of the room.

  Korie's expression softened as Lyra began to speak. He could hear a pain in her voice; it was well masked behind her strong, steady tone, but her suffering was obvious in her sad eyes and tensed jaw. This was a woman who'd been working towards her goal for too long, someone who was growing weary of trying. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes focused on her as he took in the sight in front of him.

  She tilted her head slightly, exhaling as she let the weight settle. “I don’t just need a trail to follow,” she added, voice steady, measured, her fingers uncurling slightly. “I need to know who or what I’m chasing.”

  What kind of man he was. What kind of power he wielded that had ripped her from everything she had once known. What had made him untouchable, unreachable, hidden in the shadows even when his name had been spoken in so many dark corners. If Korie knew - if he had even an inch of understanding - then she needed to hear it. Because if she could not define the shape of what she was chasing-

  How was she ever going to catch him?

  Her response had not been close to what Korie had expected. Her tone, slow and quiet with defeat, caused his heart to ache in sympathy for her, even if he had no clue as to what troubles she'd been through. She was searching for Tarek, that much was obvious, but she wanted more than a mere pinpoint towards his direction; she wanted to know him, to understand who or what he was. Which begged the question: why was she seeking him out in the first place?

  There were a thousand answers to such a question and more. There were many reasons why one would want to speak to Tarek Nocturne. A need for gold, fame, work, housing... The man held far too much control over the land in his hands. He could do anything he wished to, as long as he had the crowns to pay off the right people. And he did.

  Korie was on the very opposite end of the spectrum; he wanted nothing to do with him, never to cross paths with that monster again. Unfortunately, the fates never had fairness in mind when dealing with mortals.

  "You're... chasing him?" Korie asked, his tone gentle with curiosity. He squinted at her, tilting his head up slightly as he observed her carefully. Her hair was tied up, obsidian black in colour and neatly kept in a plait. She had a scar across her cheek, one much like his own, and her green eyes were analyzing him in return.

  Lyra watched him carefully, her gaze unwavering. He was assessing her - just as she was assessing him. The way his head tilted slightly, his sharp eyes squinting as though trying to make sense of her. The curiosity in his tone was light, but the weight behind his words was not. She could see the way he measured her now, picking her apart the same way she had done to him the night before. She didn’t miss the way his gaze flickered across her features but there was something else there too.

  He was struggling to trust that she had not heard of Tarek's evils in general. Anyone who knew him would tell you the same; he was hardly a cunning man, more like an arrogant child with demands that had been satisfied far too many times. He indulged in people's suffering and he lacked the empathy to sympathise with those he let suffer. His only goals were to grow his empire and to amass a great fortune.

  He'd even found it a little funny when he'd sentenced Korie to his fate.

  "You're speaking of someone despicable," Korie said quietly with a bitter tone, not wishing to be overheard by any coworkers. "You're better off quitting while you're ahead. There is no good that can come out of getting involved with such an individual."

  A warning. A genuine one, perhaps. A finality in his tone that suggested he had seen what happened to those who didn’t walk away.

  Lyra exhaled through her nose, a sharp breath that was neither amusement nor agreement.

  "Good," she said simply. "Then I’m not wasting my time."

  There was no mockery in her tone, no sharpness meant to cut. Just a truth, plain and simple. She didn’t doubt him. She could see that Korie spoke from experience. She could hear the truth in the way he lowered his voice, in the way his jaw tensed as though speaking Nocturne’s name aloud left a stain behind but Korie didn't tell her why. He gave her no details, no explanations, no stories of the horrors that had shaped that bitterness in his voice and that was the worst part because it meant that Tarek Nocturne was something worse than what she had imagined but she didn't know how.

  It was good in a way, to know that. Reassuring, almost. If Nocturne had been nothing, if he had been some inconsequential fool playing at power, then she might have wondered whether her chase had been for nothing.

  But this?

  This only confirmed that she was exactly where she needed to be.

  "I know enough. Enough to know that I can’t just walk away."

  Lyra wasn’t trying to escape. She was choosing to chase. She leaned forward slightly, lowering her own voice now, her tone quiet but deliberate.

  "I don’t need to hear warnings, Korie." A beat. "I need to hear what you know."

  Korie pressed a hand on his cheeks, rubbing his face as he sighed. She was determined to find him, her arrogance showing how little she understood of who she was dealing with. Better yet what; Tarek's empire extended beyond himself. He owned businesses, gangs, even people, and this woman was going to do what, try and take them all down? It really served as proof of how little she understood the situation she was willing to put herself in.

  "You're either naive, or entirely unaware, and I find the latter hard to believe," Korie tensed his shoulders, his eyes glancing towards the doorway behind him. His freckles flared up, the ice in his veins growing stronger with each moment he spent irritated and paranoid. Maybe she didn't work for Tarek after all, but either way, dealing with her insanity would surely bring unwanted attention unto himself. If she'd created this line of questioning with the wrong person, which she probably had before she got to him... There was a solid possibility that Tarek's men were tracking her.

  The woman in front of him, whose name he did not know yet, appeared the type to be able to defend herself. But she would still not be able to fight back if she was overwhelmed by an entire group of Tarek's people. The Nocturne family name held power that very few were superior to, and Korie highly doubted that this lady was part of the royal family, so she was as mortal as he was. He knew he should not get involved, he really did, but he could not allow a stranger to march directly towards danger.

  He sighed begrudgingly, squinting at her with furrowed eyebrows. "Do you think I'm not being serious? Do take my warnings to heart. They'd serve you well, unless your plan is to find an ill fate." He'd intended to appear more intimidating, but his tone was soft and concerned. His cursed being, the ice that would never thaw, the flickers of light across his skin; was he not enough proof that one should stay away from Tarek Nocturne? What made her think that she would not suffer the same way he did? The arrogance caused a strong frustration to build within him.

  It reminded him of moths at night, fluttering around the lanterns outside the tavern, always drawn to the nearest glow. They drifted and circled, chasing the light without hesitation. Would one wander too close to the flame, it would burn up in an instant, leaving nothing behind.

  A flame hardly had feelings to care for the lives it snuffed out.

  "Stop this insanity and return home. I have nothing else to say to you," Korie shook his head, taking a step back and away from her.

  Return home.

  Home.

  The words landed like a slap, but Lyra did not flinch. She let them sit between them, let them settle in the air, pressing against her skin, heavier than they had any right to be, soaking into every raw, aching wound she had spent months ignoring. There was something almost insulting in the way he spoke, as if she were some lost child who had wandered too deep into dangerous waters, as if she could simply turn back and undo everything that had brought her here.

  The sound of it nearly made her scoff. As if it were a command that could be followed. As if it were possible. As if she had anything left to return to. Her fingers curled into fists and Lyra exhaled sharply through her nose. It wasn’t the heat of anger that gripped her - it was something worse. A slow-burning frustration that felt like standing in the wreckage of a house after the fire had long since died, being told to go back inside and pretend the walls were still standing.

  Korie spoke of it as if it were a real, tangible thing, something waiting for her, untouched, unchanged, something she could just step back into like slipping into an old coat.

  But home had burned.

  Whatever she had before, whatever life she had built, whatever path had been laid before her had ended the moment she became a fugitive. Did he think she had simply chosen this? That she had wanted to chase ghosts through unfamiliar streets, to sleep in unfamiliar beds, to spend every waking moment fighting against the tide of her own ruined life?

  No.

  She had not chosen exile.

  It had been forced upon her, as violently and irreversibly as a blade driven into the heart. Yet, he looked at her now, his expression unreadable, his voice steeped in quiet certainty, as though his words carried enough weight to change her course.

  Her fingers twitched, a sharp inhale pushing against the tightness in her chest. The thought of home brought forward memories that Lyra tried desperately not to think too much about, except in the darkest hours of the night, when she was alone and sleep refused to come. They flashed forcefully across her mind, a stinging reminder of all she had lost.

  Flash.

  Soft silver tresses, shifting in the breeze. The faint scent of delicate perfume lingering in the morning air, caught in the golden glow of the sun as it streamed through a high window.

  "Your Highness."

  Her own voice, steady, respectful, practiced.

  She had spent years knowing her place, understanding her role in the world. Everything she was, everything she had become, had been shaped by that duty - by the path set for her long before she had even learned to hold a blade.

  Flash.

  Sunlight on polished marble, the steady rhythm of her boots on stone as she followed behind silk and velvet, always followed. The warmth of mid-morning settling over the royal gardens, the rustling of leaves as the wind whispered through the trees.

  "Princess."

  A name that was not hers to say freely, but one she had spoken countless times.

  Flash.

  The estate where she had grown up, halls lined with banners bearing a name that no longer belonged to her. The scent of polished wood and old parchment, the distant murmur of nobility discussing matters that had once been hers to listen to, but never to decide.

  Her father’s voice, deep and certain, echoing through the years.

  "We serve with honour, Lysandra."

  And she had.

  She had served. She had obeyed. She had lived within the walls built around her, within the expectations carved out for her. She had lived a life that was not hers to keep.

  Because one day, without warning, it had been ripped from her. One day, she was someone. The next, she was no one. Her life had been shattered, the path before her erased, and the only thing left in the wreckage was this.

  The chase.

  The hunt.

  No walls. No home.

  Only exile. Only running.

  Only the cold weight of steel at her hip and the endless search for something - anything that would make sense of the ruin left behind.

  Return home.

  The thought was almost laughable. She had no home. That life had burned, reduced to ash long before she had set foot in Brimmond, long before she had begun chasing the ghost of Tarek Nocturne through every dark corner of the world. Yet, Korie spoke as if she could just walk away, as if the past hadn't already severed itself from her grasp. She searched his face, her green eyes sharp, burning with something deeper than anger - something raw, something wounded.

  "You think you know me?" she asked, her posture rigid with barely restrained frustration. Her hands clenched at her sides, but she forced them to remain still, to keep her temper from spilling over. She hated that he spoke as if this was some reckless mistake, some misguided obsession she could simply walk away from.

  Korie felt a cold sweat wash over him at the new intensity that Lyra spoke with. He'd clearly said something wrong, with the way Lyra had frozen up with a haunting look in her eye. He knew well what that stare meant. Suffering.

  "You talk as if I have a choice," she said, quieter now, but no less sharp. "As if I can just turn my back on this and pretend like it never happened."

  She shook her head, a bitter scoff slipping past her lips.

  "If I could go home, I would have done it already."

  He spoke as if she could stop. He spoke as if she were making a choice. Was it really a choice if this was the only option? "Return home," he had said, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

  The simmering frustration inside her snapped like a blade unsheathed. She shoved herself up from the table, the chair scraping against the floor as she moved, closing the space between them in a single, deliberate step as she said:

  "This is all I have left."

  He cowered, naturally, moving back and away from her range as he felt for the door, his hand sliding against the wall. Korie’s fingers tightened on the door handle, his jaw clenching. The weight of those words pressed against his back, thick and suffocating like the heavy air before a storm. His breath came sharp through his nose as he forced his shoulders to stay rigid. "I don't know what your deal is, and I don't care," he huffed, finally shoving the door open and stepping out into the cold morning air. "I'm not risking my life because you want to ruin yours."

  The door swung shut behind him with a sharp thud, sealing away whatever response she might have had. He turned his back and he ran.

  The cobbled streets of Brimmond stretched on, damp with early morning mist rolling in from the harbor. His boots pounded against the uneven stones as he moved quickly through the city, past shuttered stalls and dim lanterns still flickering from the night before. His backpack shifted along with the pace of his sprint, his coat still in his arms as he hadn't had the time to wear it. The worst of it all was that he could hear her steps too, her boots slamming onto the pavement, the metals of her blade and armor shifting.

  People were already waking as dock workers hauled crates and sailors made their way toward the piers, giving him odd stares as he sprinted past them. The salty air mixed with the smell of fish and wet wood. The distant sound of a horn echoed from the harbor as the city slowly came to life. He kept his head down, blending in with the morning bustle of the city, just another face in the crowd.

  Ahead, the streets sloped down toward the docks, where lanterns bobbed on the water. If he could reach them, find a ship or a place to hide, he might have a chance to escape her.

  But then, as he rounded a corner, his gaze caught something that made him hesitate. A stable, tucked behind a row of buildings. The structure was small but solid, with a weathered wooden door and a hay-strewn yard that looked abandoned in the quiet of the morning. Faint noises from inside told him the stable was still in use, perhaps by someone local.

  His eyes scanned quickly, and there, in the corner of the yard, stood a black stallion, its sleek coat catching the dim light of dawn. The horse grazed lazily, unaware of his presence, its lean build unmistakable—a creature built for speed. Its saddle was already mounted, perfectly prepared for riding, almost as if he'd been placed there specifically for Korie to find. In that instant, he knew this was how he could evade her.

  He quickened his pace, veering off the main road and into the stable yard. His heart raced with a mix of urgency and hope, his breathing erratic. If he could reach the horse, he could ride straight out of the city, faster than she could catch him. Not to mention how he was growing exhausted after that sprint, his shins burning.

  He approached the stable door with quick, deliberate steps, pushing it open with a sharp creak that made his heart race. The horse’s ears flicked toward him, but it remained tense, eyes wide and watchful. Korie cursed under his breath. "Easy, easy, boy," he whispered, but his voice was laced with urgency as he moved closer.

  The sound of footsteps grew louder behind him. They were getting closer. "Come on, calm down," he muttered, reaching for the saddle in one fluid motion, trying not to startle the horse. The animal’s muscles twitched as if it could sense the tension in the air, but it didn’t pull back. Korie’s fingers tightened around the leather, heart pounding as the sound of voices echoed in the distance.

  "Hey, horse thief! We've got a horse thief!" The stablehand yelled out, just as he gripped the saddle and hoisted himself onto the horse. He quickly grabbed the reins, and the horse turned its head to look at him. He could almost see the confusion in its eye. "Go, just–"

  Korie kicked the horse’s sides, urging it forward. The horse hesitated for a moment, its muscles tense, then finally surged into motion. Korie’s heart pounded in his chest as he gripped the reins tightly, digging his heels into the horse’s sides, pushing it faster. The ground beneath them blurred as they ran out onto the cobbled street again, the sound of local guards coming to witness the commotion. He could hear them calling for him but he was already in that deep, and he was not planning on staying there and getting caught whether it was by that woman or the guards.

  Korie didn’t dare look back now, his focus entirely on the rhythm of the horse’s gallop, pushing it as fast as it could go. The urgency in his chest matched the pounding hooves beneath him, and every instinct screamed to move faster, harder, until they were far out of the city. He found himself relieved at the incredible pace the horse moved at, and he simply held on, trying to keep himself from losing his balance on the saddle.

  There would be no turning back now.