Scarlett let herself drift with the flow, carried by the current of jostling bodies. Slowly, the crowd funneled her sideways, edging her toward the side streets. Then, without realizing how it happened, she was swept through a break in the mass and out into a narrow alleyway.

She staggered a few steps in before stopping.

Finally—air.

She yanked her hood down and drew in a deep breath. It was damp and heavy with mildew, but it still felt like freedom. The alley was dark and cramped, but to her, it felt wide open. Unwatched.

She let the moment sit, then pulled her hood back over her head and crept to the edge of the alley. Peering out, she winced at the sight of the crowd—still dense, still chaotic.

No way she was going back out there. Too many eyes. Too many chances to be spotted, cloak or not.

She glanced back the way she'd come. The alley stretched behind her in a tunnel of shadow. No end in sight. For all she knew, she’d just escaped one trap only to walk into another.

"Well," she muttered, "only one way to find out."

She squeezed farther down the alley, footsteps echoing too loudly against the narrow stone walls. The sound bounced back at her, quick and sharp—was that her step, or someone else’s? The echoes eventually softened. Frowning, she looked down. The ground beneath her feet had changed. The cobblestone felt… softer?

She glanced up. Light.

A grin tugged at her lips, and she picked up her pace. Her shoes now kicked up tiny puffs of dust. No—sand.

She stumbled out of the alley and into sunlight. Her eyes widened.

The alley had emptied onto a beach.

A surprised laugh escaped her as she spun to look behind her. Just rooftops and shutters—no guards, no crowd, no one calling her name. She was on the other side of the city. Turning back, her breath caught. Far in the distance, rising proud and golden by the cliffs, was the palace. It was even more magnificent than she'd imagined.

Harmon told her once what it had been like when he had gone there for a ceremony.

“When the sun sets over the ocean,” he’d said, “a green light flashes through the grand stained glass in the throne room.”

That trip, he'd brought her a green stone necklace. She remembered how he’d held it up to the sun, letting it swing from its chain. A soft green light had spilled onto the ground, sun flashing through the gem. At the time, she’d thought it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

“Now imagine that—but lighting up an entire room. Bigger than our whole house. One day, Scar, I’ll take you to see it. It'll be the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. Her fingers brushed her neck. She wasn’t wearing the necklace. Oddly, she was relieved. If she had been, she might’ve been desperate enough to sell it. And as much as she longed for a few coins—enough for a carriage ride or a place to stay the night—she was glad she hadn’t had to part with it.

Still smiling faintly, she walked backward down the beach, watching the palace high on the clifftops. Her hand moved to lower her hood—

And then she bumped into something solid. She spun, too fast. Her cloak tangled around her feet.

“Whoa!”

She crashed to the sand, landing hard on her back. She looked up, blinking against the sunlight as a shadow loomed over her. Her pulse quickened—what had she just run into?

To her surprise—and rising panic—it was a man.

He stood tall, his posture firm. Gray streaked through his hair, and deep lines creased his face. Yet despite the signs of age, there was something youthful about his features—like a face shaped more by grief than years.

"Oh! Oh my—my apologies." She tried to stand up.

The man blinked down at her, startled. And that’s when she noticed it—the red in his eyes, the slump of his shoulders. He looked like he’d been crying.

“My dear, are you alright?” He bent slightly and extended a hand.

Scarlett hesitated, tugging her hood further down as she took it.

“Thank you, sir,” she said quickly, brushing sand from her cloak. She glanced up again. The tear streaks down his cheeks were unmistakable in the light. “Are you… alright, sir?”

The man blinked, a final tear slipping down his cheek. He blinked again—quick, almost defiant—before wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "Apologies, my dear. A child like you shouldn’t have to witness a display like that. It’s unbecoming, especially from someone my age."

Though he couldn’t see it under her hood, Scarlett's expression softened. "I don’t think so," she said gently. Reaching beneath her cloak, she pulled her handkerchief from her pocket and offered it to him. "There’s nothing unbecoming about grief."

He accepted it with a small nod and dabbed at his eyes. "Thank you, my dear." He drew in a deep breath, shoulders lifting, then sagging again.

"Is… something the matter?" she asked carefully.

For a moment, his face darkened. She stiffened—had she overstepped?

"Just some old demons," he murmured, twisting the handkerchief between his fingers. Then, with a sigh, the heaviness eased. He looked at her again, voice lighter. "Didn’t expect to run into anyone out here. This beach is usually empty."

"Oh—sorry, is it your property?" She gave a nervous laugh. "I just kind of… ended up here."

He let out a soft chuckle. "No, no. It’s just close to where I live. And it's a nice place to visit. Quiet. Peaceful." He turned toward the horizon, the wind catching the strings of his shirt.

Scarlett followed his gaze. "It is lovely. If I lived nearby, I think I’d come out here every day."

The sun was already beginning to set, staining the horizon with a soft orange glow.

"Yep. Perfect place to hide," the man said with a chuckle, throwing her a wink.

Scarlett gave a nervous laugh, instinctively taking a step back. "What?" Did he know she was hiding from the guards? How?

"For an old man," he added with a grin, "to hide from his responsibilities." He let out a low, grumbling laugh and placed his hands on his hips. "Suppose I can’t outrun them forever, though."

Scarlett let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. "Right. A good place to hide from problems." She glanced at him, wondering. Maybe she could ask to stay the night—just to lay low. He seemed kind enough. Maybe kind enough to help a stranger.

"You’re not from around here, are you?" He turned to her with a toothy grin.

She smiled tightly beneath her hood. "Me? What gave me away?"

He tapped his foot against the sand, giving her a quick once-over. "Only travelers wear cloaks like that in this heat. Locals know better."

She rubbed the back of her neck, laughing softly. "Guess I still have a lot to learn."

“You’re awfully young to be out here alone,” the man said, narrowing his eyes as he studied her.

Scarlett hesitated. It was her chance—maybe she could ask him for help.

“We actually—”

“There you are!”

A voice cut across the beach, loud and anxious.

They both turned. A sharply dressed young man was hurrying toward them, his suit vest flaring as he ran, the white of his shirt catching the last light of the sunset.

“Spirits help me,” the older man muttered.

Scarlett glanced at him. “Do you know him?”

The man grimaced, as if he’d just bitten into something sour. “Yeah. That’s my... son.”

“Oh sir!” the young man called, skidding to a stop, breathless. “There you are—I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

Scarlett looked between the two of them. The tension was palpable—thick enough to choke on.

“Ha… you must be his son.” She offered a tentative hand to the breathless man.

“Huh?” He blinked up at her, still catching his breath. His gaze flicked from the old man to Scarlett, confused. After a moment, he straightened his posture, smoothing his vest. “Yes. His…son.” The words came out stiff, like they didn’t quite fit.

She noticed the way he squinted at her, trying to peer beneath the shadow of her hood. She quickly dipped her head and edged a step back.

“Sir,” the young man said again, voice more urgent now, “I really must insist. The proceedings are about to begin.”

The older man grunted in irritation. “Thank you, my dear,” he said to Scarlett. He handed back her handkerchief, his expression already distant. “Enjoy the beach. Enjoy the city.”

Then he pushed past her—and past his son, who stumbled slightly, giving an awkward grunt.

"Your father is a kind man," she said softly, clutching her handkerchief to her chest. "Please take care of him."

The young man hesitated, offering a shaky smile. “Ah… yes. Thank you for, uh, looking out for him?” His voice rose uncertainly. He glanced down the beach—his father was already a distant figure. “Oh no.” He startled and half-jumped. “Right—thank you!” With a quick, awkward bow, he hurried after him.

Scarlett turned back to the water.

The beach suddenly felt too quiet. Too wide. The moment they left, it was as if the stillness had thickened—pressing in on her from all sides. She was alone again. Alone in a city that didn’t know her name. But probably would as soon as the guards kicked up enough of a fuzz.

Maybe this had been a mistake.

She exhaled shakily and looked down at the handkerchief in her hands. It wasn’t much. She had two rings. A plain gold bracelet. Maybe someone would buy the handkerchief, though it pained her to think of it. If not… she’d have to find somewhere—anywhere—to sleep. An inn was out of the question.

“I wonder where the temple is?” she murmured, glancing down the beach in the opposite direction from where she’d come.

It wasn’t officially part of the temple, but the agency her parents had used to adopt her worked through it. Every child adopted—or sold—had to pass through temple records. If there was no file, it was considered trafficking. Which meant… the temple could help her. If she explained that she’d gotten "lost," they'd pull up her file. See her name, her parents, and where she was supposed to be. They’d help. At the very least, they’d give her shelter.

A small, hopeful smile tugged at her lips.

"Lady Scarlett?"

She froze. The warm breeze seemed to snap cold, slicing through the heat. Her skin prickled. She turned.

Someone was running toward her down the beach. Her stomach dropped.

No. No no no. Not now.

She glanced down the other end of the beach. Maybe she could run. Slip into an alley, disappear into the city again. But when she looked back, the figure was already closer—too close. There was no chance she’d outrun them.

A cold pit opened in her stomach.

“Lady Scarlett!” The voice struck her like a stone. The figure skidded to a halt, sand spiraling around his feet.

Artur.

Of course it was him.

She clenched her jaw, forcing her body to stop trembling. Breathe. Don’t flinch.

“Artur…” she said through tight teeth.

She had to make a decision. Now.

Her voice shifted—higher, a little breathless. “Finally! I thought I’d never find anyone.” She stepped forward, letting the nervous quiver in her hands pass as confusion instead of fear. “One second I was holding Evelyn’s hand, and the next, everyone was gone.”

Artur jumped as she rushed toward him, taking a quick step back. His eyes flicked nervously between hers.

“Is Evelyn okay? Did she get lost too?” Scarlett moved in even closer, tilting her head up to meet his eyes with the softest, most innocent look she could manage.

He shifted uncomfortably. “Evelyn’s fine—it’s you we were worried about.” His voice softened as he reached for her hand.

She fought not to tense under his touch, keeping her shoulders loose, casual. “The crowd was too strong. I called out, but…” She shook her head, eyes wide. “No one heard me.” 

Lies.

“I’m just glad I found you.” He gave her hand a gentle tug. “Come on. We should regroup with the others.”

Her heart pounded like it wanted out of her chest. If she went back, there wouldn’t be another chance. She planted her feet in the sand.

Artur paused, turning back to her. “Miss?”

Her throat tightened. “Artur… what if—what if you let me go?” Her voice cracked. “Just tell them you couldn’t find me.” She tried to slip her hand free of his.

He looked around, clearly uneasy, biting his lip. “I… I can’t do that.”

Her heart dropped. “Please. I haven’t done anything wrong. If you just tell me why I’m here—what this is about—I swear, I can explain any reason why I shouldn't be. There has to be some reason I don’t belong there.”

“I really can’t say.” He met her gaze, his eyes full of quiet regret. “The Chancellor’s waiting… and we’re already behind.”

Her skin prickled. She clenched her fists, every part of her screaming to fight—to flee—but instead, she brushed past him with a sharp, “Fine.”

What am I doing? She should run. Scream. Something. Not stomp away like a sulking child. That kind of pride would get her killed.

“Thank you,” Artur said, hurrying to keep up, but the words landed hollow.

She stopped so suddenly he nearly collided with her.

“Uh—Miss Scarlett?” He skidded in the sand, catching himself.

She stared down, cheeks burning. “I don’t know where we’re going.”

“Oh. Right,” he said, awkwardly chuckling. “Just… follow me.” He stepped ahead and held out his hand.

She looked at it, her own fingers twitching slightly. But she didn’t take it. Eventually, he let his hand fall. With a tight smile, he turned and walked ahead, leaving her to follow.