Selina’s POV
The narrow brick alleys of the weavers’ district became a gauntlet of echoes. The high-pitched, metallic whistles of the Glass-Trackers rose from the north – a hunting chorus bouncing off the shuttered windows and wet slate roofs. We ran in a tight, desperate pack, Finn setting the killing pace in the lead, Elias shielding Isolde right behind him, and me keeping watch on our rear.
The air grew progressively colder as we neared the outer perimeter, losing the thick, sulfurous stink of the foundries and taking on the sharp, dead scent of the southern moors.
"The gate is just around this bend," Finn grunted, his pace slowing as he approached a massive stone archway bridging the gap between two high-walled textile mills. He pressed his back against the damp brickwork, his hand
