Page 24 of The First Scar
"We need to rest." Serenya's voice was quiet. "Five minutes, Amaria. You're shaking so hard your teeth are clicking."
The faint chatter of enamel against enamel defied me, even when I bit down.
I closed my eyes. Behind my lids, I saw him. The Crownforged. After I invaded his mind, his eyes held a strange vulnerability—not just the sting of violation, but the quiet shock of relief. He looked like a male finally seen.
I will find you.
Something deep and tectonic shifted. His grief. His loneliness. Still there. Still heavy.
I shoved the feeling down and opened my eyes.
A poster had materialized on the wall across from us with holographic magic. My face stared back—hood up, features shadowed, but unmistakably me. The artist had made my eyes look wild. Feral. At least they gotthatright.
The Rupture, it read.Threat to Divine Order. Do Not Engage.
My Luminar mark hissed, a whisper burning with indignation.
But the truth didn't matter anymore. Only the story they'd chosen to tell.
"They're fast," Serenya murmured, following my gaze to the poster. "Faster than I expected."
"The King had this ready." My voice came out flat. Dead. "He was waiting for someone like me. Probably has a whole drawer full of 'abomination' posters, just needed to fill in the face."
She didn't argue. But the silence that followed wasn't about the King.
"Don't," I said.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking it."
Her lips pressed thin. That familiar expression—disagreement softened by love. Guilt rose like a bitter knot in my throat.
"We've survived this long on our own," I said, and I wasn't sure if I was convincing her or myself. "We don't need zealots with ridiculous fashion sense."
"We don't have supplies." Her voice stayed level. Factual. Worse than if she'd argued. "No food. No water. No coin. The balm is useless now. And every safehouse we've ever used is compromised the moment someone decides twenty million marks is worth more than their conscience."
I stared at the bloodstains on my tunic. Didn't answer.
"I'm not saying we trust them," she continued, softer now. "I'm saying we're out of options we can afford to refuse."
"We're not out yet."
The words tasted like denial. I said them anyway.
Serenya studied me for a long moment. Then she sighed—a small, tired sound that held years of practice in letting me be stubborn.
"Five minutes," she said again. "Then we figure out what's left."
I nodded, though we both knew the answer.
Not much. Not much at all.
The crier's bell rang again in the distance, and my face stared down from the wall, and somewhere in this city, a Crownforged with burning eyes was already hunting.
The five minutes stretched to ten. Then we moved, because sitting still felt too much like waiting to die, and I'd always preferred to die in motion.
Serenya pulled her soiled hood low over her face, tucking her priestess braids out of sight. I stayed to the deeper shadows,my pale blue cloak turned inside-out to show the mud-stained lining. Two girls playing dress-up in defeat. At least we matched.
