Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
At first, Wren told herself it was nothing.
A shiver moved through the stone beneath her feet, just enough to make the cups on the cafe’s counter clink together, just enough to make her pause mid-motion with her book in her hands. No one cried out. No alarms sounded. A few people glanced around, brows furrowing, and then life resumed its steady rhythm. She exhaled and forced her fingers to unclench, to stop overbending the binding of her book.
Hours later, it happened again.
This time the tremor slid straight through her bones, rattling her teeth and blooming cold behind her ribs. The walls hummed, a low, wrong vibration that made her vision blur at the edges. Someone laughed nervously. Someone else muttered a prayer. Wren’s heart stuttered, then lurched into a gallop she could not slow. Her palms felt sweaty. The cafe felt too small, the ceiling suddenly oppressive despite the open air beyond the windows.
She stood up, her chair groaning across the floor in a sharp way that made other patrons turn their heads her way. Images rose unbidden in her mind, of white stone, blood on her hands, a name she did not recognize echoing in her ears. Jesse. Wren. Neither fit. Both pressed in on her at once.
The air felt thin, like Stormbreak had climbed higher without warning. She tried to breathe but her chest felt tight. She couldn't stay here. She moved without thinking and pushed through the cafe entrance, out into the bright, unwavering heat of Longheat. Her pulse roared louder than the city, louder than the murmurs of unease spreading through the streets outside.
She pushed through a small crowd of people heading for the same cafe she was vacating, and her knees nearly gave as she darted into the nearest alley. Wren braced herself against the wall, fingers digging into the stone as if she could anchor the city--and herself--by sheer will alone. Honest fear flooded her, raw and unfiltered.
A shiver moved through the stone beneath her feet, just enough to make the cups on the cafe’s counter clink together, just enough to make her pause mid-motion with her book in her hands. No one cried out. No alarms sounded. A few people glanced around, brows furrowing, and then life resumed its steady rhythm. She exhaled and forced her fingers to unclench, to stop overbending the binding of her book.
Hours later, it happened again.
This time the tremor slid straight through her bones, rattling her teeth and blooming cold behind her ribs. The walls hummed, a low, wrong vibration that made her vision blur at the edges. Someone laughed nervously. Someone else muttered a prayer. Wren’s heart stuttered, then lurched into a gallop she could not slow. Her palms felt sweaty. The cafe felt too small, the ceiling suddenly oppressive despite the open air beyond the windows.
She stood up, her chair groaning across the floor in a sharp way that made other patrons turn their heads her way. Images rose unbidden in her mind, of white stone, blood on her hands, a name she did not recognize echoing in her ears. Jesse. Wren. Neither fit. Both pressed in on her at once.
The air felt thin, like Stormbreak had climbed higher without warning. She tried to breathe but her chest felt tight. She couldn't stay here. She moved without thinking and pushed through the cafe entrance, out into the bright, unwavering heat of Longheat. Her pulse roared louder than the city, louder than the murmurs of unease spreading through the streets outside.
She pushed through a small crowd of people heading for the same cafe she was vacating, and her knees nearly gave as she darted into the nearest alley. Wren braced herself against the wall, fingers digging into the stone as if she could anchor the city--and herself--by sheer will alone. Honest fear flooded her, raw and unfiltered.
wren
