Amiya's POV
They hadn't left Selune yet—not really. Not while its weight still pressed down on her chest like a boot. Amiya crouched low near the edge of a derelict alleyway as the first pink hints of dawn crept over the rooftops. Sylas stood a few paces ahead, checking the route again. His shoulders were tense, jaw set. She hated how familiar that scowl was becoming.
Their plan—if it could even be called that—was to make it through the outer tunnels before anyone realized they were gone. The city hadn't calmed overnight; it had merely shifted, seething beneath its cobbled streets. There was still shouting in the distance. Still the occasional hammer of boots on stone. Selune wasn't sleeping. It was hunting.
Amiya didn't speak. Her body ached from too little rest and too much tension, but she wasn't going to be the one to slow them down. Not now. Not when every second they lingered meant another guard could come around the corner and throw them both back into the chaos they barely escaped.
They slipped into the narrow passage behind the crumbling stables, ducking low and keeping to the shadows. Sylas led them like he'd done this a thousand times, and maybe he had. She didn't ask. Didn't want to know what else he'd run from.
The air grew colder the farther they went, damp walls closing in as the light disappeared. She kept her hand on her dagger, breath shallow. When they emerged again, it was into a low ditch just outside the city's southern ridge.
And just like that, they were outside.
Except she didn't feel free.
The horizon stretched ahead in shades of blue and orange, dew clinging to scrub grass and brittle earth. The road before them wasn't a road at all—just a faint trail beaten by carts and desperation. Every step away from Selune felt heavier, not lighter. As if the city had sunk hooks into her spine and didn't want to let go.
She kept pace with Sylas in silence. Not because she didn't have anything to say, but because the only things that came to mind were sharp-edged and unhelpful. What now? Where the fuck are we going? How long until someone catches up?
The wind tugged at her cloak and carried with it the scent of smoke. Not a fire nearby, but old ruin. Her gut twisted. She couldn't help thinking of every terrible "what if."
Sylas didn't slow down.
They walked until the city was nothing more than a jagged shadow behind them. Then farther still.
The silence stretched until it became unbearable. Amiya opened her mouth, then shut it again. What was there to say? That she was scared? That she was pissed? That she didn't know what the hell she was doing out here?
Eventually, she muttered, "This better not be a dead end."
Sylas glanced back, one brow raised. "You'd rather go back?"
"Fuck no."
He didn't respond—just nodded once, like that was answer enough.
The road curved through dried creek beds and thorn-choked hills. Each step away from the city made her feel both lighter and more exposed. She'd thought freedom would feel like fresh air and a clean slate. Instead, it felt like walking barefoot across shattered glass.
She tried not to look at Sylas too much. He moved like he'd been born on these roads—silent, alert, always watching the horizon. She hated how reassuring that was.
She hated needing it.
Sylas's POV
Leaving Selune should have felt like a win.
It didn't.
Sylas kept his eyes on the trail, one hand resting on the hilt of his blade as they crossed a stretch of scrubland under the fragile light of morning. The city was gone from view, but its presence lingered—like smoke clinging to his clothes, or blood under his fingernails.
He knew better than to get comfortable. The world outside the city was quieter, sure—but not safer. Out here, trouble didn't announce itself. It waited. It watched.
And right now, he had more trouble walking beside him than he knew what to do with.
Amiya was silent, but her energy was coiled tight. Every step she took was measured. Controlled. She hadn't complained, hadn't asked for rest, but he knew better than to assume she was fine. She was running on stubbornness and adrenaline, and that only got you so far.
He respected that, in his own gruff way. He'd seen nobles break after a single night on the run. Not her. Not yet.
They reached a rise in the land where the trail flattened out, and he paused. Not because he needed to—he could've kept walking—but because he wanted to see if she'd admit she was struggling.
She didn't.
She stood beside him, scanning the horizon like she had any clue what she was looking for. He almost admired the bluff.
"You doing alright?" he asked, keeping his voice even.
She blinked at him. "Define 'alright.'"
He snorted softly. "Still breathing. Still moving."
Amiya looked ahead again. "Then yeah. I guess I'm alright."
He let that sit. She wasn't alright. Neither of them were. But they were out. And that was something.
They kept moving, boots crunching through gravel and brittle grass. His mind didn't quiet. It circled back—again and again—to the moment she'd said they were hunting her. She hadn't offered more than that, and he hadn't asked. Yet the implications kept gnawing at him.
She wasn't just trouble. She was the kind of trouble that got cities locked down and names whispered through alleyways. The kind of trouble that made people vanish.
He should've walked away.
But when she looked back at Selune, something in her expression caught him off guard. It wasn't fear. Not entirely. It was loss. Regret. Maybe even guilt. And he knew that look too well to pretend he didn't.
Whatever she left behind, it had cut deep.
They stopped just past midday beneath the shade of a crooked pine. He handed her a waterskin without a word, then sat back against a rock.
She took it without thanks—but also without attitude. That alone felt like progress.
As he chewed a strip of jerky, Sylas glanced at her again. She was staring into the distance, brows furrowed.
"You got a plan?" he asked.
She looked at him sideways. "Not dying sounds like a good one."
He huffed a laugh. "Could've fooled me, the way you walk into danger like it owes you money."
Amiya didn't smile. But she didn't argue either.
They sat in silence until the sun dipped lower.
Then, as they stood to keep moving, Sylas glanced back once—toward the place they'd come from. Toward the chaos still simmering behind Selune's walls.
"Hope whatever's out here is easier to survive than what we left behind," he muttered.
Because if it wasn't, they were in deeper shit than he cared to admit.