Sixty Four
“We have to go. Now.” Captain Breon’s whisper barely carried over the surf, but it cut through the hush like a knife. They were crouched behind a splintered seawall where the rocks rose jagged and wet; their edges slick with salt. Beyond the scrubline, shapes moved between the ruined buildings; too silent, too purposeful. Shifters. Their silhouettes warped whenever they passed through smoke or torchlight, and every so often, even at this distance, Zaria caught the faint glint of red. Breon’s jaw flexed. “One more sweep and they’ll reach the cove.” Zaria didn’t look at him. Her eyes stayed on the broken city. “I can’t yet,” she said. Breon’s breath hitched. “Lady Zaria” “Wait by the boat,” Zaria cut in, voice low but absolute. “I will find survivors and bring them to you. We can’t leav
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