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The alley was silent except for the ragged sound of their breathing. Dust hung in the air where Mira had fallen, motes catching the weak sunlight that cut between the walls. Her knife lay only a few feet away, gleaming faintly with smears of blood—Corvin’s blood. Eira couldn’t stop staring at it, her stick still trembling in her hands, her knuckles white.

Corvin broke the quiet first. His voice was low, shaky with adrenaline.

“She tried to kill us.”

His words weren’t an accusation so much as a statement of fact. The disbelief in his tone made it heavier, like he still couldn’t quite convince himself it had happened. He pressed a hand harder against his shoulder, blood seeping between his fingers.

“She almost gutted me.”

“She wasn’t herself,” Sai said quickly, though the way he dabbed at his bleeding nose made him wince. His calm tone was frayed around the edges. “You saw it. She didn’t know who we were. She was… somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else?” Corvin snapped, pushing himself off the wall. His face was flushed red, his jaw set. “Tell that to my shoulder. Or your nose. Or—” He jabbed a finger toward Eira. “She was about to carve her open.”

Eira flinched. The echo of Mira’s scream and the weight of the stick in her hands still clung to her bones. She hadn’t wanted to hit her, but she’d had no choice. She swallowed hard, trying to find words, but nothing came out.

Sai wiped his sleeve under his nose, red smearing.

“Arguing about it here isn’t helping. We need to move her. If Shadow One was here, then others might be close.”

The mention of Shadow One made them all fall quiet again. Eira dared a glance at the alley’s end. Nothing moved in the shadows now. Nothing breathed. But she couldn’t shake the memory of that grin, the way the soldier had looked right at them as if he knew exactly what would happen next.

Corvin growled under his breath, but didn’t argue. He crouched reluctantly beside Mira’s limp form. She looked so small when she wasn’t thrashing, her hands curled in loose fists, hair sticking to her damp forehead. For a moment, he hesitated, torn between anger and pity. Then he slid his arms under her and lifted her up. She was lighter than he expected.

“Let’s just hope she doesn’t wake up swinging again,” he muttered.

Eira stepped forward instinctively. “I can help—”

“I’ve got her,” Corvin cut in sharply. “You just… keep your stick ready, in case she decides to take another swing.”

Eira’s cheeks burned. She wanted to protest, to say it wasn’t fair to blame Mira for what happened—but she bit her tongue. Corvin was bleeding. Sai was bleeding. And Mira was unconscious in his arms because of her. Words wouldn’t fix any of that.

Sai led the way out of the alley. They slipped back into the crowd, trying to blend in. The market’s energy pressed in on them from all sides—voices, footsteps, laughter—but it all felt distant, muffled. Every villager’s glance seemed sharper, every whisper pointed. Eira kept her eyes down, afraid that anyone who looked too long might see the blood stains and know something terrible had happened.

She couldn’t stop replaying the last few minutes in her head—the way Mira had looked at her like a stranger, like a monster. The knife pressing closer. The sudden crack as wood hit skull. The memory of it made her arms ache as though the weight of the stick was still in her hands.

They made it past the stalls and into quieter streets. Here, the noise dulled, leaving only the sound of Corvin’s boots thudding against the stones as he carried Mira. They turned corner after corner until the market was far behind them.

“Where are we going?” Eira asked finally, her voice small.

Sai sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose where blood still smeared.

“I guess we better go and meet Dex. Better to do it quickly now, after what happened.”

Corvin looked disappointed at Sai before he turned his gaze down onto Mira, whom he carried. Her face was pale, her lips parted as though she were whispering something inaudible in her dreams.

“What is it, Corvin?” Sai’s voice made his head snap up and meet his eyes.

“Well, sorry to say, but I’d rather not be the human taxi.”

Sai raised a brow at Corvin’s words before turning and continuing to walk.

“Hey, don’t ignore me.”

Eira also started walking.

“Oh, come on…” Despite his protests, Corvin did start to follow.

They walked through the empty streets, only passing by a few people every now and then. Their appearance—a mixture of blood, bruises, and an unconscious girl—did catch some strange eyes, as did their clothes. Most people wore old-style dresses or plain shirts, something from a medieval era rather than modern hoodies or patterned tops. Everything here looked practical, functional, rather than stylish. It made them stand out even more. Still, no one spoke to them. The villagers only passed by, glancing once before hurrying on.

Eira’s stomach tightened with every stare. She tugged her sleeves down as though to hide, but it didn’t matter. They looked alien here.

“It almost feels like we’re celebrities. Hehe…” Her nervous laugh at the end made it clear she wasn’t enjoying the attention.

Sai looked at her with a faint smile. “We sort of are. I mean, Corvin was on stage yesterday.”

“HEY! I HEARD THAT!”

Corvin yelled from behind them as he walked, holding Mira. Sai and Eira laughed despite themselves.

Corvin turned his head like a sulking child. “Fine, laugh at my misery. Just go ahead.”

Corvin’s simple reaction only made them laugh longer.

But the laughter didn’t last. As the echo of it faded into the narrow streets, silence pressed in again, heavier this time. Mira groaned faintly in Corvin’s arms, her head shifting against his shoulder. He stiffened immediately.

“Oh no. Not again…”

Sai stopped and turned quickly. “Careful. If she wakes up like before, we can’t risk another fight.”

Eira claped her hands together. “What if she’s back to normal? What if she’s okay this time?”

Corvin gave her a hard look. “Do you want to take that gamble? Because I don’t. Last time ‘okay’ nearly got me stabbed.”

Mira’s breathing steadied, and she didn’t stir again. Still unconscious. Corvin exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing just a little.

They kept moving. The village stretched wider here, the streets opening onto broader lanes lined with timber-framed houses. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys. A woman sweeping her doorstep paused to watch them, frowning slightly, before retreating inside and shutting her door.

Eira whispered, “They’re afraid of us.”

“Wouldn’t you be?” Corvin muttered. “We look like we just came out of a fight.”

“We kind of did,” Sai said under his breath.

At last, they reached a small square, quiet compared to the bustling market. A stone fountain trickled at its center, the sound of water soft against the wind. Sai paused, glancing around.

“Let’s stop here for a minute. Corvin, set her down—gently.”

Corvin crouched beside the fountain and lowered Mira onto the cool stone edge. Her head lolled slightly, her hair damp with sweat. For the first time since the fight, she looked peaceful. Almost normal.

Eira knelt beside her, brushing a strand of hair from Mira’s forehead. “She feels cold…”

“Shock,” Sai said quietly. “Or exhaustion. Maybe both.” He crouched too, inspecting her without touching. “We need to get answers. Something’s wrong, and it’s more than just nerves. Whatever she saw—it was real to her.”

“Real enough she tried to put me six feet under,” Corvin grumbled, though softer now.

Eira’s throat tightened. “We can’t give up on her. She’s… she’s Mira. She wouldn’t hurt us if she knew it was us.”

Corvin leaned back, wiping sweat from his forehead with his uninjured arm. “You sure about that? Because her knife didn’t care whose face it was pointed at.”

Sai’s gaze stayed fixed on Mira’s still face. His voice was low, but steady.

“She’s part of this group. Whether she’s losing herself or not—we don’t leave her behind. We figure it out, we already lost Reith we can’t lose Mira too.”

For once, Corvin didn’t argue. He only sighed, muttering under his breath as he sat down heavily on the stone edge.

The fountain bubbled softly. Around them, the square remained empty. Yet the quiet didn’t comfort them. If anything, it felt as though the silence was waiting, holding its breath.

Mira stirred again, her lips parting. A whisper escaped—inaudible, broken. Eira leaned closer, straining to hear.

It sounded like one word. A name.

And it wasn’t any of theirs.