Sofia reached the archway of Lucent Reach with her cloak clinging to her shoulders like a damp promise. The wind had cleaned the ash away in thin ribbons and left the world smelling of cold stone and old rain. She moved with the economy of someone who had led sieges and tended funerals , steps measured, eyes cataloging. Behind her, Owen carried a battered satchel bristling with tools and plates of copper; Evelyn walked slower than usual, each breath a careful negotiation.
They had seen the ash walkers' prints on the ridge , three sets of hurried footfalls leading into the city , and for a moment Sofia had feared the worst. Then she'd seen the scattered scorched dust and the deep gouge where someone had slammed a palm into marble. The marks were not of a struggle for life. They read like a man trying very hard to keep something he did not understand from cleaving him in half.
