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I turn my attention forward, where beyond a single reinforced door, my ring, and everything it represents, awaits.

The heartbeat inside me does not slow. It quickens.

Not with fear. With recognition. Withhunger.

I push open the door to the vault. Shelves of confiscated items and scrolls line the walls, each labeled with date of seizure, location, and what it is.

Books. Weapons. Artifacts the Authority deems dangerous to its control. The room hums with restrained power, magic contained but never truly neutralized.

And at the center, on a pedestal under a crystal case, displayed like a trophy, lies my ring.

Twenty-seven years collapse into nothing as I move forward, my shadows flowing onward to meet it, eagerly. Like starving creatures sensing sustenance, they writhe beneath my skin, stretching toward the object that holds the last part of my power.

The case is designed to display, not defend. I tilt it aside with a care that feels unnatural against the hunger rising in me. The ring gleams in the dim light, a band of solid black, a stone so dark it seems to devour the torchlight itself.

I hover a hand above it, the pull nearly tangible. The ring's pulse answers my own, matching it, deepening it, folding me into its rhythm. After the Authority stripped it from my hand at Thornreave Pass, I felt its absence like a phantom limb. Now, it calls to me with the promise of completion.

“Patrol approaching,” Varam warns.

My fingers close around the ring. Power races up my arm and spreads through my chest like ice and fire intertwined.

I resist the overwhelming urge to slip it onto my finger. Now isn't the time. I have no idea how the reconnection will affect me after so long. Whether I can control the full force of my power again or if it might overwhelm me in this vulnerable moment. I won't risk our escape for the satisfaction of feeling whole again. It will wait until we reach the river.

Ellie's dream flashes through my mind with sudden, unsettling clarity. Shadow consuming everything. Silver light burning through darkness.

It’s a warning I can’t afford to ignore.

A chill races down my spine as I tuck the ring into my inner pocket, close against my chest where I can feel its pulse matching my own.

“We need to go.”

I turn at Varam's warning, forcing my focus back to our immediate survival. Slipping out of the vault, we make our way back the way we came, though part of my awareness remains fixated on the weight of the ring—the piece of myself I've finally reclaimed.

We’re almost past the upper checkpoint when the sound rips through the tower.

Three short, sharp blasts of a war horn. An alarm, harsh and unmistakable.

“The bodies have been discovered. The alarm will spread quickly. We need to get out of here before they restrict movement.”

We duck into a storage room at the sound of hurried footsteps. Guards rush past, voices raised, demanding to know what happened. I consider our options, sending out shadows to check routes.

“The kitchen passage. We'll lose ourselves in the servants’ flight.”

We strip off the soldier cloaks and tunics in seconds, revealing drab servant garb beneath, and slip into the human current flooding toward the kitchens.

The kitchens are in chaos. Staff shove each other aside,dropping baskets, shouting warnings. No one notices two more faces among them.

We pass through, keeping our heads down, and avoiding eye contact, taking the path we used to get in. The alley is still empty when we step out into sunlight, the alarm not yet reaching the outside, and we walk through the city, heading toward the gate at a steady pace. Running would draw attention, hesitation would cause suspicion.

We’re within sight of the gate when the horn sounds again. Three sharp blasts that freeze the entire market in place.

The lockdown has begun.

We have one chance to get through. A single moment when confusion precedes action.

“Run,” I tell Varam, abandoning all pretense at blending in as guards snap to attention.

We sprint for the gate.