The docks didn't sleep.
I'd known that before we came.
Heard it in passing. In half-muttered conversations. In the way dock workers spoke when they thought no one important was listening.
Shipments come in at any hour.
Day.
Night.
Didn't matter.
And now, standing at the edge of it—
I understood why.
Lantern light flickered across slick wood and shifting shadows, casting everything in a restless glow that never quite settled. Ships loomed in the distance like dark silhouettes against darker water, their masts cutting into the sky. Ropes creaked. Crates slammed. Voices overlapped in rough bursts—laughter, arguments, orders barked across the docks.
Movement everywhere.
Noise everywhere.
And yet—
no one really looking.
Perfect.
I kept my head down as we stepped fully into it.
Ash clung to my skin, smeared unevenly across my arms, my neck, the edge of my jaw. My clothes were dulled with dirt and soot, fabric roughened and worn. My ash-covered hair hung loose around my face, grey and tangled just enough to look like I hadn't bothered with it.
Invisible.
That was the goal.
Beside me, Orenda moved quietly.
Too quietly.
Even here.
Even surrounded by chaos.
She stayed close like I'd told her, her small hand brushing lightly against my sleeve now and then—not gripping, not clinging, just… there.
Present.
Grounding.
I didn't look down at her.
Didn't acknowledge it.
But I felt it.
Always.
"Stay where there are people," I murmured under my breath, barely moving my lips.
She nodded once.
I saw it from the corner of my eye.
Good.
We stepped deeper into the docks.
Past stacked crates stamped with faded markings. Past workers hauling nets and barrels, shoulders straining under the weight. Past merchants arguing over tallies and shipments.
Every step measured.
Every movement deliberate.
I didn't rush.
Didn't hesitate.
Just moved like I belonged.
That was the trick.
Not hiding.
Not sneaking.
Belonging.
A man brushed past me, muttering something under his breath, the scent of cheap alcohol clinging to him. I didn't react. Didn't even glance at him.
Just kept walking.
Another worker shouted across the dock, waving someone over. A group of men laughed loudly near a pile of crates, their attention entirely on each other.
No one looked twice.
Good.
My gaze shifted slowly as I walked, scanning without appearing to. Faces blurred together at first—workers, merchants, guards—but I forced myself to slow it down.
Look.
Really look.
And then—
I saw him.
The minister.
Near the far side of the dock, half-lit by a swaying lantern, his posture tight, shoulders drawn in as if he were trying to take up less space than he already did.
The same man from the meeting.
The one who couldn't quite meet anyone's eyes.
The one who looked like he was already drowning.
My steps didn't falter.
Didn't change.
But my focus sharpened.
There.
That was something.
I shifted slightly, adjusting my path just enough to keep him within my line of sight without making it obvious.
Beside me, Orenda slowed.
I felt it instantly.
That subtle shift in her movement.
I glanced down briefly.
She had turned slightly, her attention caught by something off to the side.
The small market.
Lanterns hung lower there, casting warmer light over a scattering of makeshift stalls. Trinkets. Sea glass. Small carved pieces. Fish laid out on rough boards, their scales catching the light.
Normal.
Too normal.
In a place like this.
I hesitated.
Just for a second.
My gaze flicked back to the minister.
He was moving.
Turning away.
Heading deeper into the docks.
Out of sight.
My jaw tightened.
Decision.
Now.
I looked back at Orenda.
She was already drifting closer to the edge of the market, her attention fixed on a small display of glass pieces glowing faintly in the lantern light.
Not wandering.
Not lost.
Just—
looking.
She would stay where there were people.
Just like I told her.
Just like she promised.
My chest tightened anyway.
"You stay here," I said quietly, not breaking stride. "I'll come back."
She looked up at me.
Met my eyes.
And nodded.
Once.
Certain.
That should have been enough.
It was enough.
It had to be.
I turned.
And followed him.
The noise of the docks shifted as I moved deeper in.
Less chaotic.
More controlled.
Fewer workers.
More guards.
Lantern light spaced further apart, shadows stretching longer between them.
I kept my pace steady, letting the distance close gradually.
Not too fast.
Not too slow.
The minister didn't look back.
Didn't check over his shoulder.
Which told me one of two things—
Either he thought he was safe.
Or he was too afraid of something else to worry about being followed.
Neither option sat well.
He turned again, slipping between two stacked storage buildings near the edge of the dock.
More secluded.
More private.
Good.
I slowed slightly as I approached, letting a pair of workers pass between us before slipping into the same narrow path.
The sounds of the dock dulled behind me.
Muted.
Distant.
Here, the air felt different.
Still.
Heavy.
I stepped carefully, boots silent against the worn ground, my eyes adjusting easily to the dimmer light.
Dragon sight.
Useful.
Always.
He stopped.
Just ahead.
At a small door tucked into the side of one of the buildings.
Unmarked.
Easy to miss.
He knocked once.
Twice.
Then unlocked it himself.
Slipped inside.
And shut the door behind him.
I didn't move immediately.
Didn't rush.
Instead, I stepped back, eyes scanning upward.
Rooftop.
Low enough.
Accessible.
I moved without thinking, catching the edge of the building and pulling myself up, muscles working quietly as I climbed.
The roof creaked faintly beneath my weight, but I shifted quickly to distribute it.
Still.
Silent.
Hidden.
I moved to the edge.
And looked down.
The window was small.
Dirty.
But enough.
Inside, the minister moved quickly, his shadow flickering against the wall as he crossed the room.
Rushed.
Nervous.
He set something down.
Moved again.
Opened a drawer.
Closed it.
Paced.
My eyes narrowed.
Then—
he stopped.
Looked toward the door.
And left.
Just like that.
Empty-handed.
I stilled.
Processing.
He'd been carrying something before.
I'd seen it.
Clutched tight against his side.
But now—
nothing.
Which meant—
My gaze shifted back to the room.
He left it here.
Good.
I dropped down silently, landing near the door.
No guards.
No immediate movement.
I stepped forward.
Reaching for the lock.
Metal.
Simple.
I exhaled slowly.
Then let the water come.
It slipped easily into the mechanism, filling the tiny spaces between gears and pins.
Precise.
Controlled.
Then—
I froze it.
The lock stiffened instantly.
And I turned.
A soft click.
The door opened.
A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
Handy.
I slipped inside.
And shut the door behind me.
The room was small.
Dingy.
Dimly lit by a single lantern on the desk.
Papers scattered.
Crates stacked in the corner.
Nothing immediately useful.
My gaze moved quickly, scanning every surface, every shadow.
Looking.
Searching.
Nothing.
Too ordinary.
Too—
My breath caught slightly.
Something brushed against my cheek.
Soft.
Cold.
Not wind.
Not air.
A touch.
I froze.
Every muscle locking.
The sensation came again.
Gentle.
But firm enough to guide.
My head turned slightly.
Toward the desk.
Toward a small drawer.
Locked.
My eyes narrowed.
The thread.
It pulsed faintly beneath my ribs.
Aware.
Watching.
I swallowed.
Then moved.
Slow.
Controlled.
Toward the desk.
My fingers brushed the edge of the drawer.
Then I repeated the motion.
Water.
Freeze.
Turn.
Click.
I think this may be my new favorite trick.
The drawer slid open.
Inside—
documents.
Thick.
Bound.
Important.
I didn't hesitate.
I grabbed them.
Flipped briefly—
Names.
Numbers.
Shipments.
My pulse kicked.
This was it.
This was what we needed.
I closed the drawer.
Stood.
Time to go.
The docks swallowed me again as I stepped back outside.
Noise.
Movement.
Life.
Like nothing had happened.
I moved quickly now.
Faster.
Not running.
But close.
Back through the narrow path.
Back toward the market.
Back to—
My steps slowed.
The market was still there.
Lanterns still burning.
Trinkets still scattered across tables.
Workers still passing through.
But—
My chest tightened.
She wasn't there.
I scanned left.
Right.
Nothing.
The stall she'd been standing at—
empty.
My pulse spiked.
Sharp.
Immediate.
"Orenda?"
My voice came out low.
Controlled.
But it didn't matter.
She didn't answer.
Of course she didn't.
My jaw clenched.
My eyes sharpened.
Scanning everything now.
Every face.
Every shadow.
Every movement.
Gone.
The thread pulsed.
Hard.
Warning.
And for the first time that night—
something cold slid through my chest.
Not strategy.
Not control.
Fear.
Real.
Immediate.
And I was already moving.
Too late.