We left before the sun.
No banners. No drums. No speeches. Just seven of us slipping through the eastern gate like ghosts — me, Kaelon, Kirael, Thorn, Elyan, Nysha, and two of Kaelon's agents who knew the terrain. The city was still asleep. The rune-lights along the walls dimmed as we passed, as if the capital itself was holding its breath.
I didn't look back.
If I looked back, I'd see the terrace. And if I saw the terrace, I'd think of her. And if I thought of her, I wouldn't be able to do what needed to be done.
So I walked forward. Into the dark.
The first three hours were silence. The comfortable kind — the kind that comes from people who've bled together and don't need words to fill the space. Kaelon walked beside me, his stride slightly uneven from the injuries that hadn't fully healed. He didn't complain. He never did. That was the thing about Kaelon — he'd carry a broken leg into battle and call it a warm-up.
