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She was ready to crawl, and she wasn’t even halfway to the top.

The hill stretched endlessly before her—steep, unyielding, and absolutely necessary to conquer.

Aimee pushed forward. Her striders slapped the wet pavement—too tight, too small. They weren’t made for her, sheknew that, but why were they so narrow? Why did they have to pinch? Why did Taly have such stupid, tiny, perfect feet—

With a weak cry of victory, Aimee reached the hill’s summit and immediately doubled over, gulping down breath after breath.

She’d made it.

For a moment, she stood there—panting and soaked to the bone, looking out over the city. From up here, everything seemed different. Softer in the hazy light of dawn.

This moment, this view—it almost made it worth it.

She still couldn’t outrun a shade. But she’d gone farther than yesterday.

And tomorrow, she would go farther still.

Looking down the block, she set her next finish line. Then she turned around and started walking back through the mist.

The camp sprawled across the once-lush park, a maze of desperation. Tents in varying states of assembly were clustered haphazardly, creating narrow passageways that wound between them. Eventually, a sense of makeshift order would emerge, but for now, Aiden Bryer did his best not to trip on the boxes of medical supplies, herbs, and crystals scattered everywhere.

The air carried a mixture of scents: the earthy aroma of damp soil, the tang of unwashed bodies, and the faintest hint of sickness that lingered despite their best efforts. The city was under siege, and it was natural in those conditions (close quarters, decreased quality of hygiene, lack of access to resources) that diseases would spread more rapidly in susceptible populations.

The Fey fell prey to few diseases. Whereas humans could get infected with anything. At least, it seemed that way sometimes. The hospital was already at capacity—Fey rarelyrequired overnight treatment, so their medical facilities tended to be small and sparsely stocked. But when humans got sick, which was often, they needed beds with menders to tend them, and that required space.

And menders, but that was a problem Aiden would deal with later.

Space he had in the form of the city park. And tents—he had lots of tents. Ivain held enough in reserve for the market that set up outside the Aion Gate to build his own tent-city. They’d started construction on the overflow camp two days ago. Tents were still going up, supplies were still being moved in, and they were already a quarter full with new patients being admitted in a steady stream.

Slung over one shoulder, Aiden’s healer’s kit clinked softly with vials and herbs as he moved through the overflow camp, making his morning rounds. Coughs and murmurs filled the air.

He approached the first tent. A middle-aged human woman lay inside, her feverish eyes darting around the dim space. “Lord Healer?” she rasped, her voice weak.

“Aiden,” he corrected gently, setting down his kit. He wouldn’t earn that title until he was Seal V, and there were still only three lines on his wrist.

Her throat worked as she swallowed. Shudders wracked her body, rattling her teeth. “It’s spreading, isn’t it?”

He knelt beside her, offering a reassuring smile. “We’re doing everything we can to contain it.”

Aiden wasn’t sure what this new illness was—there were so many, it took a human disease specialist to keep track of them all. But it was spreading fast. And stubborn. Symptoms ranged from mild to severe, with younger and older populations naturally being more at risk. Fever, chills, an unusual pattern of bruising on the fingers and toes, sometimes a cough, but themain symptom was the uncontrollable, violent shivering that gave it its name: the shaking fever.

The woman reached out, gripping his wrist with surprising strength. Her whole arm shook with her illness’s namesake tremors. “My daughter, she’s just a child. You have to help her.”

“What’s her name?” he asked.

“Elara. I told ‘em that was signing us in, if I got it, she would too. That’s how contagions work. Don’t matter if she ain’t showing it yet, but they wouldn’t listen.”

Aiden nodded and made a mental note to look at the patient roster. They were doing their best to collect next of kin information and addresses, but the intake desk was understaffed. The volunteers weren’t always well-trained.

“I’ll do my best to find her,” he promised, disentangling his wrist gently. “For now, you need to rest.”

And he needed to move on. He pressed his fingers to her temple, casting a spell to soothe her fever, and placed a bit of leather between her teeth to help with the rattling before continuing his rounds.

Each day, he had more patients than the last. The humans moved aside for him. Hollowed cheeks, weary eyes, and a shared sense of unease painted a grim portrait. It wasn’t panic. Not yet. Humans lived their whole lives knowing it would end, that death would one day come for them. But it generally didn’t come with so many faces at once—hunger, sickness, siege. And even the strongest threads fray when pulled too tight.

Raised voices echoed ahead. As he approached the heart of the camp, he found the source. A young woman—Mina, at least, he thought that was her name—stood at the center of a growing circle of disgruntled humans.

“What’s going on here?” Aiden demanded.