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I study his profile, wondering what it costs him to doubt connections from his past life. “Are we going to follow him?”

“Yes.” He stands with fluid grace, dropping coins on the table. “But remain cautious. Stay close to me, and be prepared to run if I tell you.”

“You really think this could be a trap?” My stomach twists at the thought.

His eyes meet mine. “It's possible. The Authority might have discovered the codes, or broken the networks. But the signals he used are known only to a very specific group of people. I believe it's a risk worth taking.”

The admission—a glimpse into his past, into the people he once trusted with his life—feels unexpectedly intimate. For a moment, I see a man who once belonged to a cause strong enough that someone might still remember how to answer.

We cross the common room and step out through the exit. The air outside feels sharp and clean after the smoky warmth of the inn. The stranger stands at the corner, half-hidden in shadow. When our eyes meet his, he turns and disappears down a narrow side street.

Ravencross unfolds around us in a bewildering maze.

Narrow passages wind between buildings of weathered stone, opening unexpectedly into hidden courtyards where fountains murmur.

Covered walkways arch overhead, connecting upper stories of buildings across the street.

Nothing here follows the grid patterns of modern cities I know.

Everything curves, twists, doubles back on itself in ways that disorient and confuse.

Sacha keeps a reasonable distance behind the man, and I stay close beside him, making sure I don’t lose him in the bustle of people. The streets grow narrower and less populated as we move away from the central marketplace, and the noise fades behind us.

The architecture itself feels alien to me.

Doorways that arch to points at their tops, windows framed with intricate geometric stonework that reminds me of flowing water, terraced rooftops where gardens grow in clay pots.

I want to stare at everything, to absorb this world that is becoming increasingly real to me.

Instead, I focus on Sacha's back as he moves through the crowd, afraid of losing him in this labyrinth.

The man's path grows increasingly complex. We double back on our route, circle blocks, and take sudden turns down alleys barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast. Several times he pauses at corners, waiting until we signal awareness before continuing onward.

“Is he trying to confuse us?” I whisper, ducking under a low-hanging vine as we follow him down an alley I'm certain we've already been through once already. The buildings lean toward each other overhead, leaving only a ribbon of sky visible between them.

“He's ensuring we're not followed.” Sacha's voice is equally low, his body angled toward mine in the narrow passage. “And yes, he’s ensuring we can’t retrace our steps, in case we’re the ones laying the trap.”

“Are we? Being followed, I mean … not laying a trap?”

His eyes scan the shadows around us, seeing things I can't. “No. Not that I can detect.”

After what seems like an eternity of twisting passages, we emerge into a small courtyard nestled between two taller structures, and hidden from the main streets.

Laundry lines crisscross overhead, strung between upper windows like colorful banners—children's tunics, bedsheets, and garments I can't name flutter in the slight breeze.

Clay pots line a stone bench along one wall, housing plants with spiky purple flowers and trailing vines with heart-shaped leaves.

The space feels lived-in but eerily deserted, as if its inhabitants vanished moments before our arrival.

The sudden stillness after so much movement unsettles me.

We're far from the inn now, far from anything familiar in this already unfamiliar world.

A weathered wooden door waits in the shadow of overhanging eaves, its iron hinges black with age.

The man pauses before it, and produces a key from within his sleeve .

“Meresh kavir solavin .” He unlocks the door.

Sacha pauses, and looks at me. “Stay behind me. Remain alert.”

I nod, my heart rate spiking. Whoever this man is, whatever lies beyond that door—friend or foe—will shape our next steps in this strange world.

The man pushes the door open, revealing nothing but darkness beyond. He steps inside, the scrape of flint against steel breaking the silence. A small flame flares to life, and he lights a lamp, spilling amber light across a narrow staircase that descends below street level.

“Telkavin meresh .” He gestures for us to follow.

Sacha doesn’t move right away. He glances back at me, one eyebrow raised in a silent question.

I give him a slight nod, and draw a steadying breath, lungs filling with cool stone-scented air. After endless days of desert, of tower walls and open skies, of learning this world one careful step at a time, this moment feels pivotal.

He steps across the threshold. I follow close behind, leaving the known world above for whatever secrets wait below.