The road was too quiet. Even the birds had chosen higher branches.
The Walker stood at its center, the wagons stalled behind him like obedient animals. The raven shifted on his wrist, feathers glinting faint silver, eyes bright with borrowed hunger. The man’s calm gaze rested on Lena as though he had been waiting for her since before she was born.
---
The Parley
“You’ve taken much,” the Walker said softly. His voice carried without force, like a line already written into the road. “The Lattice. The hum. The debt I tallied at the Spire. You spend boldly, girl.”
“I spend what’s mine,” Lena answered, her crowns steady above her, glowing faint in the sun.
“Yours?” His lips curved faintly. “That’s the lie every crowned has told themselves before the world collected. The crowns aren’t your
