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No one argues as each Tirenese flyer flips in the air, preparing to flee. In drunken zigzags, we fly back the way we came. As if this airspace is part of some sort of bizarre alternate reality, as soon as we cross the river, the world snaps back into place, sharp and clear once more.

“What in the name of the gods just happened there?” Bastian darts left and right, checking below to make sure of what he’s flying over. “Every time I cross the far bank, the landscape distorts. But once I reach the river, it looks normal.”

I mimic him and get the same results while the rest of the group gawks at us from their positions over the river. “Everything fades out when I move toward where the Lost City is supposed to be, except for the area where we’re supposed to take the boat.”

“How is that possible?” Leesa starts to fall a little behind since Kaida appears reluctant to approach the affected area.

Bastian stares at the once again vivid greenery below us. “It could be a curse. Some sort of ancient magic. We don’t know how or why the Lost City became…well, lost.”

“Or it could be ritual magic.” I’m worried we’ll have frequent issues with this during our journey. Magic we don’t understand and can’t sense. “We know nothing about that or what it’s capable of. And for whatever reason, we can only find this city by following the route on the map.”

Agnar scowls. “Which means if anything goes wrong, no one else can find us because we’re the ones with the map. We should find a safe place to camp for the night, then head back. Sterling will want to know about this, and he’ll have my ass if anything happens to you.”

I’m afraid if we return to the palace without finding the Lost City, Sterling will insist it’s too dangerous to try again. And with the drachen still out there and Ziva only knows what other threats, we have no choice but to continue on.

We have to do this.

I shake my head. “I’m fine. We’re all going to be fine. There’s no reason to turn around. Sterling knows we have the map. He’s aware it’s risky. Nothing has changed, though. We have each other. We just need to correct course and take the boat across.”

Blair slows the beat of his wings. “Where’s the blasted boat?”

Kaida moves again, flying in lazy circles as he descends. The rest of us follow.

That’s when I spot it.

A weathered black statue—a fierce cat of sorts—perched atop a mossy stone. Something about the sight tugs at me, like a whisper of a dream. Tracking the way the head is pointed, I find an equally moss-covered pier.

“Over there.” The others track my pointed finger.

Bastian glances between Leesa and me. “This is odd.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Agnar rolls his eyes.

We descend cautiously. Landing near the statue, I glide closer as if drawn by an inexplicable pull. It’s just a statue, I remind myself, yet the sensation of being monitored creeps along my spine.

“Hello, little watcher.” I wonder if it holds the key to crossing the enigmatic river, or if it’s simply another piece in a puzzle designed to confound and control.

The river stretches before us, deceptively calm and wide. A large rowboat bobs against the dock, its rope frayed but holding fast.

Something about our passage across these mystic waters seems off.

Too convenient.

Are we walking into a trap? Is Agnar right? Should we return to the palace and regroup?

Stick with the plan. That’s just fear talking.

The dock creaks beneath my feet, interrupting the eerie silence that hangs over the Red River. My fingers trace the grain of the worn wood, a tangible reminder that this place, though shrouded in mysteries, is real.

The dream still lurks at the edges of my consciousness. A night filled with black eyes that spied on me from the shadows, scrutinizing, calculating. Though I manage to shake off the memory, the hairs on the back of my neck suggest I’m still being observed. That knowledge clings to me like a second skin.

Beside me, Blair’s gaze remains locked on the water, his easygoing demeanor swallowed by the gravity of our task. He inches closer to inspect the vessel. Its wooden hull bears the scars of time and use, yet it floats dutifully, awaiting passengers.

Across the river, an unnatural fog conceals more than it reveals.

“Creepy, isn’t it?” Leesa’s brow furrows as she finishes re-braiding her dark golden blond tresses. “Are you sure about this?”

Her hesitation gives me pause. This isn’t typical Leesa behavior. But then, this day—this whole situation—is far from typical.