The hills west of the harbor rose like broken teeth, their paths old and mean and known only to smugglers, shepherds, and men who ran from fires they couldn't put out. I took them at a dead sprint until my breath burned, then settled into a pace I could hold—one foot in front of the other, heart hammering, mind stripped down to numbers and angles and time. The city fell away behind me, screams thinning, smoke flattening into a low bruise against the sky. Moonrise crept closer with every step, a pale promise sharpening at the edge of the clouds.
The first sign that the Empress hadn't been lying came an hour in.
The air changed.
