They didn't go far.
That was the unsettling part.
Nyra had expected tunnels, ladders, some winding descent deeper into the undercity's bones. Instead, the boy led them through a series of narrow passages that curved gently, almost thoughtfully, like the city itself was guiding them away from attention rather than hiding them outright.
The crystals here were different.
They weren't broken—just… dimmed. Smoothed down, like someone had deliberately taught them to be less noticeable.
"People forget places like this exist," the boy said, as if answering her thoughts. "Nothing important ever happens where nothing shines."
Ilen snorted quietly. "You say that like it's a rule."
"It is," he replied. "Just not an official one."
They stopped before a low archway barely taller than Nyra's shoulders. Beyond it lay a small room—stone walls, no crystal veins at all, only a single lantern burning with ordinary flame.
Nyra stared.
"No crystal?" she asked.
"None that listens," the boy said.
That made her skin prickle.
Inside, the room felt… muted. Like sound itself had learned to tread carefully. Nyra became acutely aware of her breathing, the scrape of her boots against stone, the soft rustle of fabric when she shifted.
The boy leaned against the far wall and finally reached up to his mask.
Not to remove it—just to loosen it, enough for air.
"I don't like staying long," he said. "Neither does the city."
Ilen set her pack down. "You say that about everywhere."
"Yes, but here it's mutual."
Nyra remained standing, hands clasped tightly in front of her. Without the hum of crystal nearby, her thoughts felt louder. Harder to organize.
"What now?" she asked.
The boy studied her for a moment. Not her satchel. Not the place where her mask would be. Her face.
"Now," he said, "you wait."
Her jaw tightened. "I've been doing that my whole life."
He smiled faintly. "Then you're well-practiced."
Ilen shot him a look. "You're doing the thing again."
"I know."
Nyra looked between them. "The thing where no one tells me anything?"
"The thing where he decides when knowledge becomes dangerous," Ilen said. "Which is most of the time."
Nyra exhaled slowly and sat down against the wall. The stone was warmer here, worn smooth by years of unnoticed use.
"Fine," she said. "Then tell me something small."
The boy tilted his head. "Such as?"
"Your name," she said, meeting his gaze. "Or is that also dangerous?"
A pause.
"Cael," he said finally.
The name settled into the room like a soft click—something aligning.
Nyra nodded once. "Nyra."
"I know."
That earned him a glare. He didn't apologize.
Ilen sank down beside her, stretching her legs out. "If it helps," she said, "the Crown's confused. That buys time."
"Time for what?" Nyra asked.
Ilen shrugged. "For patterns to change."
Nyra thought of the plaza. The lanterns flickering. The way every crystal had sung when her mask cracked.
"I didn't mean to change anything," she said quietly.
Cael's voice was calm when he replied. "No one ever does."
The lantern flame fluttered suddenly.
Nyra felt it before she saw it—a subtle pressure, like the room had leaned closer. Not the sharp intensity she'd felt in the plaza. This was softer. Curious.
Cael straightened.
Ilen's fingers brushed one of her crystals instinctively.
Nyra's pulse quickened. "What is it?"
"Nothing urgent," Cael said. "Just… attention."
"From who?"
He hesitated. Just long enough.
"From the city," he said.
Nyra swallowed. "It can do that?"
"It can remember," Ilen said. "That's worse."
The flame steadied again. The pressure eased.
Cael relaxed—but not fully.
"They won't act yet," he said. "You're still an error, not a threat."
Nyra hugged her knees. "What's the difference?"
"Intent," he replied. "And repetition."
The word lodged uncomfortably in her chest.
Somewhere far above them, Virelyn continued its careful order—bells ringing, masks humming, crystals sorting truth from obedience.
Down here, in a room that refused to shine, Nyra realized something quietly terrifying:
She wasn't hidden.
She was being allowed.
And whatever had cracked her mask hadn't finished making itself known.