Riven felt the city before he saw it.
The air changed first less dust, less open sky, more stone and iron and layered scents that pressed close instead of drifting away. The outskirts had been wide and unforgiving, a place where anger could stretch its limbs and run itself raw. Highcrest did not allow that. Highcrest demanded control.
He stood at the edge of the final checkpoint, armor dark with travel wear, cloak folded tight against his shoulders. The gates loomed ahead, massive and familiar, etched with sigils he’d sworn his life to protect.
A month.
One month away, and it felt like he was stepping back into a body he no longer fully recognized.
Cassian shifted beside him, adjusting his gauntlets, eyes flicking to Riven’s jaw tight, clenched, a tell Cassian had learned to read year
