Page 131 of The Shadow Orc's Bride

Eliza passed the cellar without crouching. She walked slowly enough to be seen and remembered. Though her cloak covered her armor, her bearing revealed her authority.

Whispers followed.

"It's her."

"Impossible. She died when the tower burned."

"Then the tower lied."

Eliza kept her expression neutral. This wasn’t the time for smiles.

They crossed the dye yards on the rims of stone vats. The twins moved in perfect unison; Maera stepped silently. The orc veteran checked for danger, his Shadow-sense alert for traps.

Ahead, they heard trouble—voices arguing, metal clinking, spears tapping nervously against stone. Eliza signaled, and the group hid behind broken looms.

At the crossroads, five Ketheri soldiers were forcing two scholars toward a wagon. Both scholars wore gray wool; one clutched a ledger while the other had blood on his scalp.

"We take the rear pair when they clear the cart," Liron whispered.

"No." Eliza stepped out before violence could erupt.

The nearest soldier startled, gripping his spear. The captain, wearing a lion-crested helm, held the scholars without pushing them.

"Stop," Eliza commanded.

The bond-mark stirred faintly beneath her skin, a quiet awareness of Rakhal somewhere beyond the walls.

"Another ghost," one soldier muttered. "This city breeds them."

Eliza took the ledger and examined it. "You belong to the Archivists’ Guild," she told the scholars. "Your charter protects you." She faced the captain. "Your king signed it himself when he took the gate."

The captain surveyed the street, looking for her companions but finding none. The bond-mark pulsed once, steadying her.

"Orders," the captain said stiffly.

"Mine," she replied, quiet but firm.

News traveled fast. People whispered her name from doorway to doorway, hope growing with each telling. The captain realized he could avoid bloodshed.

"Go," he told his men. "Back to the post. Tell them there's unrest at Crow."

Eliza returned the ledger to the scholar. "Bind that," she told Maera, who tore a strip from her sleeve. "And go home through the drains," she added to the scholars. "Avoid crowds."

The captain hesitated. "Who are you?" he asked, afraid of confirming what he already suspected.

"Witness," Eliza said. Her title would only complicate things. The captain decided against challenging her and left.

Liron joined her. "Words won the day," he said, impressed.

"They often do," she replied. The bond-mark quieted again, like a heartbeat fading into distance.

They moved faster through narrow alleys. News of their arrival spread ahead of them—hope passing from person to person.

Near the second crossing, a one-legged man struggled to lift his daughter through a window. Liron helped the child, then supported the father. Eliza kept the group moving.We’re here to fight, not to help every person in need,she reminded herself. But watching Liron’s kindness with the child and her father touched something in her. These small moments of humanity were worth fighting for.

The gatehouse at Crow Street was heavily guarded. Two squads blocked the street with pikes and crossbows. The officer on the wall wore his crest prominently, eager to appear loyal.

"Shields," Liron ordered. The twins moved forward with makeshift barriers.