Page 137 of The Crown's Awakening
The Safehouse
We do not stop.
Colsar moves forward without breaking pace, placing himself just enough ahead of me that whatever is there meets him first. I adjust with him, my steps more careful now, my awareness stretched between the path beneath my feet and the space ahead of us. The passage bends again, narrowing and then widening without pattern, the sound dissolving into nothing as quickly as it came.
For a moment I think we imagined it.
Then the structure changes.
Subtle at first, a smoothing of the walls, a difference in the way the ground holds beneath each step. The air shifts with it, less stagnant, carrying the faint impression of use rather than abandonment. The path straightens just enough that movement ahead becomes easier to track, and I find myself watching the shadows more carefully than I was before.
Colsar slows and I follow his line of sight.
There is nothing at first, and then I see it. A door set into the wall so cleanly it disappears unless you are looking for it, the edges worn in a way that suggests use without frequency, a small marking near the frame placed where it would only be noticed by someone who already knew to look.
We stop in front of it and I draw in a breath before stepping forward.
"Northwood," I say.
Silence holds for just long enough to register, and then something moves on the other side and the door opens inward. Low light spills out into the passage, revealing a narrow space beyond where two figures already stand facing us, their posture alert but unremarkable, our arrival fitting within something they were clearly expecting.
"You are expected," one of them says.
We step inside and the door closes behind us.
The room is small and built entirely for purpose, supplies lining the walls in tight order, everything placed with intent, nothing wasted, nothing offered beyond what the situation requires. I feel the change the moment I stop moving, the weight I have been carrying through constant motion pulling low and deep as my back tightens and my body adjusts to stillness for the first time in hours. I lower myself onto the bench along the wall with care, controlling the descent, and the relief is immediate even as it brings its own awareness with it, the pressure spreading outward as my body quietly accounts for everything it has endured and everything it is still doing.
The second man holds out a piece of parchment without preamble. "Coordinates for the next point. You will move at first light."
I take it and move my eyes over the markings once before committing them to memory. "How far?"
"Close. Midday if you keep pace."
That aligns well enough, and I nod. He passes over water without further comment and I drink slowly, giving my body time to accept it properly.
Colsar remains near the door, his attention moving through the room and taking in exits, positions, the placement of everything within reach, because four walls change nothing about what waits outside.
“You will wake us before light," he says.
"We will."
The night passes without real rest though we remain inside. They bring food, something warm, and I eat because I need to, because the alternative is foolish. Everything becomes more present once I stop moving, the weight low in my body pressing harder against the stillness, my back tightening in a slow and persistent way that forces me to shift my position more than once. Colsar stays near the door for a long time, and when the room finally quiets he comes to me, his hand finding my back briefly and grounding before falling away again.
I close my eyes at some point, not fully, just enough to get through the remaining hours before morning.
They wake us before the light breaks above ground and everything resumes with the same efficiency it carried the nightbefore. Food again, quick and without ceremony, and I eat what I can while Colsar gathers what little we carry. When I rise my body pushes back against it, the ache returning sharper than it was, and beneath it a tightening low and slow that makes me pause before taking my next step. It passes, but not cleanly, and Colsar sees it without needing to be told.
He says nothing and moves to help me instead, his hands precise as he secures each layer and adjusts without comment. When he lowers himself to fasten my boots he keeps his focus on the task until the very end, when his eyes lift briefly to mine and something moves through his expression before he lets it go.
"I am fine," I say, and he does not answer, only finishes, rises, and takes the coordinates.
No one lingers. The door opens, the passage waits, and Colsar's hand finds mine as we move back out into it.
The passage does not remain below forever.
It shifts gradually, the air thinning, the path rising until the ground beneath changes, and light begins to bleed through ahead. When we emerge it is not into a city or a road but into silence.
An abandoned village stretches before us.
