The knock was soft, but persistent.
Elias stirred from where he sat slouched in the room's only chair, his back sore from trying to sleep upright. Pale morning light spilled through the window, painting crooked lines across the floorboards. For a second, he forgot where he was.
Then the knock came again. Two short raps.
He rubbed his eyes, stood, and crossed to the door.
Kaelen stood there, already dressed and alert. Her braid was neater than yesterday, and her expression hovered somewhere between casual and hopeful.
"I don't want to eat alone," she said, as if that explained everything.
Elias stepped aside. "You could've gone without me."
"Could've," she agreed, walking past him into the room. "But it's harder to disappear into a crowd when you're the only new face."
She glanced at the bed. Rauel was still sprawled across it, half under the blanket, one boot on, one missing, arm draped dramatically over his face.
"Is he dead?" she asked.
"No. Just proving how committed he is to regretting things."
Kaelen crouched beside the bed and nudged his shoulder. "Morning."
A low groan.
She nudged again, a bit firmer. "There's food."
Another groan. "Negotiate with someone else."
Elias pulled on his boots. "He'll find us when vertical becomes an option."
Kaelen straightened, brushing off her knees. "Let's go before whatever's downstairs turns into soup."
Downstairs felt exactly like the night before—loud, crowded, and a little too warm.
The only difference was the light. Sun pushed through the tall windows, cutting across spilled drinks and worn tabletops, catching on the haze that hovered just above eye level. No one seemed to notice it. Or care.
The place didn't look like it had closed at all.
Kaelen hovered near the stairs for a second, scanning for a place to sit. Elias took it in with quiet detachment—too many voices, too much movement. He didn't know how places like this worked, or if there was a system to it.
But it didn't seem to matter.
A table cleared near the far wall, and they moved quickly to claim it—Kaelen pulling out a chair, Elias sitting across from her like he wasn't sure how long they'd be allowed to stay there.
A server dropped off two mismatched mugs and a plate without saying a word.
Kaelen picked one up cautiously. "Well… it's hot."
Elias looked around. "Doesn't seem like they wait for orders."
"Maybe it's whatever's ready." She took a slow sip, then nodded. "Edible."
Elias didn't touch his yet. He was too busy watching the room.
The noise. The pace. The way people leaned too close when they talked. How no one looked like they'd slept, but everyone looked like they belonged.
He didn't.
Not here. Not in this room. Not in this world.
But the truth was, he'd never really belonged in the last one either.
Not in the way people seemed to mean it. He'd gone to work. Paid what he could. Stared at the sky on his breaks while others stared at their phones. He hadn't hated it—but he hadn't missed it either.
This world was louder. Wilder. Less predictable. But at least it wasn't pretending.
Here, the rules were obvious: power mattered. Affinity mattered. And if you didn't have either, you kept your head down and survived.
Still, there was something in the noise that reminded him of home. Not the place—just the feeling. Sitting alone at a table, watching the world move around him like it had nothing to do with him.
Until it did.
A crash snapped him out of his thoughts—followed by a shout, then a scuffle near the bar.
He turned just in time to see a mug flying toward them.
Without thinking, Elias threw an arm out, blocking it midair with a sharp thunk of ceramic against forearm. The mug hit the floor and shattered.
Kaelen flinched, then looked at him, surprised.
He didn't say anything—just watched as two large patrons shoved a third toward the exit, one of them shouting something about a "stolen roll" and "cheating by heat."
The third tried to fight back but barely made it three steps before a bouncer—if that's what he was—grabbed him by the back of the collar and hauled him through the door like trash on collection day.
Silence hovered for a second. Then the room picked up right where it left off.
Footsteps pounded the stairs.
Rauel appeared at the edge of the stairwell, squinting into the light with one boot on and his shirt only halfway buttoned.
"Why's there yelling? Who's bleeding? Did I miss breakfast?"
Kaelen looked over at Elias, still a little wide-eyed. "You moved fast. I didn't even see it coming."
Elias lowered his arm, brushing a bit of clay dust off his sleeve. "Reflex."
She gave a small nod—half impressed, half still processing what just happened.
Rauel stumbled closer, squinting into the light like it had personally offended him. His shirt was still half-buttoned, and his boot dragged slightly with every step.
"Someone threw a mug," Kaelen said, glancing his way. "Elias caught it."
Rauel blinked. "At you?"
"Wrong table," Elias said. "Wrong time."
"Of course." Rauel dropped into the seat across from them and reached for a mug like it was the only thing that could fix his head. "Can't leave you two alone for five minutes."
The door swung open with a gust of wind and the heavy stomp of boots.
Harlan stepped inside, brushing dust from his coat. He spotted them immediately and made his way over, weaving between tables with the kind of confidence only someone local could pull off.
"You look worse sober than you did drowning," he said, stopping at Rauel's shoulder.
Rauel didn't even flinch. "Morning to you too, sunshine."
Kaelen offered a polite smile. Elias gave a nod—he remembered the man from the shore.
Harlan nodded back. "Glad you three made it through. Most people who lose a boat don't show up smiling the next day."
Rauel gestured vaguely toward his mug. "There's grain alcohol and denial in here somewhere."
Harlan dropped a hand on the table—more gesture than slam—and said, "Your cargo's waiting. They hauled it in after sunrise. Some of it's still dripping, but your old healer packed tight."
Rauel straightened a little. "Thanks for making sure it didn't disappear."
"I figured if anyone could sweet-talk a storm and walk away, it'd be you."
Kaelen glanced at Elias, and he caught the faintest edge of a smirk tug at her mouth.
Harlan glanced between the three of them. "You ready?"
Rauel downed the last of his mug like it might help, then stood with a groan. "Not even close. Let's go."
Harlan turned without ceremony and headed for the door.
Rauel paused, grabbing his coat. "He's been this helpful exactly three times. I keep track."
The streets thinned as they headed east, weaving through alleys that sloped gently toward the river. The buildings here were older—stone stacked without much pattern, moss in the cracks, laundry lines stretched between windows like banners of routine survival.
Rauel and Harlan walked ahead, shoulder to shoulder, trading old stories with the rhythm of men who'd had more late nights than they could remember and weren't trying to impress anyone.
"—and then she says, 'You'd better pay for that table,' like I broke it on purpose."
"You did."
"I fell through it. That's not the same as breaking."
Kaelen walked beside Elias, quiet but attentive, eyes darting to whatever new part of the city unfolded in front of them. She didn't interrupt. Neither did he.
They didn't need to.
Every now and then, Rauel would gesture to a crooked building or a graffiti-covered wall, tossing in a half-story about someone who'd lived there or fought there or vanished there. Elias listened. Not just to the words, but to the way Rauel carried them—like he knew the weight of every syllable but didn't mind hauling it around.
The river came into view just past a row of half-sunken posts that might've once marked a dock. It ran along the city's edge, wide and fast, its banks cluttered with storage sheds and rope-strung walkways.
The checkpoint was up ahead—nothing more than a watchhouse and a few armed workers with ledgers and carts.
Then the shouting started.
Elias stopped walking. So did Kaelen.
Across the slope near the river, a carriage was under siege.
Four masked figures darted in and out of cover—fast, precise, and practiced. One sent bursts of compressed air to scatter the checkpoint guards. Another raised jagged slabs of stone from the riverbank, slamming them into the road to block escape. Sparks lit the air as a third climbed onto the carriage, trying to tear the rear doors open.
Guards retaliated in bursts—streams of water hammering down across the attackers' path, fire curling along the stone barricades to keep them pinned. One guard barked orders while the others held formation.
Rauel's jaw tightened. "They're organized."
Beside him, Harlan was already moving—hand on the grip of his weapon, expression locked into something cold and focused.
Then one of the bandits broke from cover and hurled a crackling arc of lightning across the clearing—fast, wild, and wide.
It missed the guards.
And came straight for Elias.
He didn't move.
There wasn't time.
Kaelen shouted his name—
And the lightning closed the distance.