The airport's international terminal was a teeming cosmos of its own, being the most prominent and well-used in Arcadia. Layla had thought herself worldly, but this was a different scale. The air thrummed with a low-grade magical current that made her teeth ache. They moved through a sea of beings—humans dwarfed by hulking trolls, werewolves in travel-worn flannels, their large frames making them distinguishable, pixies flitting around, their colours shifting from deep green to vibrant pinks, many shapes of Kithain and Fae of every court, their sharp ears and unnerving beauty cutting through the crowd like shards of crystal.
Colors were brighter, scents sharper: musky animal musk, the coppery tang of old blood, the overwhelming perfume of Summer Fae blooms, her head swam with the sensory
