The backlash did not arrive as violence.
It arrived as words.
Pamphlets appeared first—neatly printed, carefully phrased, handed out after services and pinned to public boards. They spoke of "recent disturbances," of "false miracles," of "dangerous influences masquerading as salvation."
No names.
No accusations.
Just implication.
The sermons followed.
Priests who had once praised Malvane now preached caution. Obedience. The danger of seeking answers outside approved doctrine. The importance of trusting institutions even when they falter, because chaos, they warned, was always worse than corruption.
People listened.
Some nodded.
Some frowned.
Some whispered.
And some looked at Aiden and his companions a little too long in the streets.
---
Seris noticed first.
Of course she did.
It wasn't fear that tipped her off—it was pattern.
Guards lingering where they hadn't before. Questions asked twice. A clerk suddenly forgetting her name when days ago he'd remembered it perfectly.
The city was deciding what story it wanted to believe.
And stories always needed villains.
She felt it settle into her bones with a familiar, bitter weight.
"I know this phase," she muttered one evening.
Aiden looked up from where he sat. "Phase?"
"Where institutions realize they can't deny what happened… so they start reshaping it." She leaned against the wall, arms folded. "Soon it won't be about Malvane. It'll be about 'external agitators.' Dangerous outsiders. Unregulated magic."
Liora frowned. "That's… us."
Seris didn't correct her.
---
The first direct confrontation came sooner than she expected.
He caught her alone in a narrow street near the western quarter—close enough to public space to be polite, far enough to be intentional.
"Seris Valen."
The voice was calm.
Professional.
She turned slowly.
He wore investigator's insignia, but not her old branch. Different division. Higher clearance. The kind that didn't chase truth so much as contain it.
"Captain Rhel," she said coolly. "Didn't think you'd still be wearing that badge."
He smiled thinly. "Didn't think you'd still be breathing."
Aiden was half a street away. Liora and Inkaris further still. Rhel had chosen this moment carefully.
"You caused quite a mess," he continued conversationally. "Ran off. Stirred things up. Made powerful people uncomfortable."
Seris met his gaze without flinching. "Funny. I remember reporting corruption and being told to stop asking questions."
Rhel sighed. "You always were idealistic."
"And you always were comfortable."
That stung.
Good.
"The Church is… sensitive right now," he said. "They're looking for reassurance. The public needs someone to blame that isn't them."
Seris' jaw tightened. "And you came to offer me up?"
"On the contrary." He leaned in slightly. "I came to offer you a way back in. Public cooperation. Quiet testimony. Help us steer the narrative."
She stared at him. "You want me to lie."
"I want you to simplify."
There it was.
The old rot.
Seris exhaled slowly. "And if I don't?"
Rhel's smile vanished. "Then the story moves without you. And people like you tend to get… misinterpreted."
A pause.
Then, softly: "Be careful who you associate with. Some influences don't survive scrutiny."
Seris laughed once—short, humorless. "Funny. That's exactly what I was thinking about the Church."
Rhel's eyes hardened.
"This city doesn't need wishful thinking," he said. "It needs order."
She stepped closer, voice low. "Order built on silence isn't stability. It's rot with better manners."
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Rhel straightened. "You've always been difficult."
"And you've always been wrong," she replied.
He turned and walked away.
Seris stood still for several breaths after he left.
Then she let out a shaky laugh.
"Well," she muttered. "That's new."
---
That night, Aiden found her on the rooftop again.
"Someone talked to you," he said gently.
She looked surprised. "Was it that obvious?"
"Only because you look like you're deciding whether to punch the city."
She snorted despite herself. "Tempting."
She told him.
About Rhel. About the offer. About the unspoken threat.
Aiden listened quietly, hands clenched in his lap.
"They're afraid," he said finally.
"Yes," Seris agreed. "And afraid people are dangerous."
He hesitated. "Do you regret saying no to the Duchess now?"
She shook her head. "No. This just confirms it."
Aiden studied her. "You're going to get in trouble for this."
She smiled faintly. "I already did."
They sat together, watching lanterns flicker like uncertain stars.
Below them, the city whispered its new half-truths.
Above them, institutions prepared their masks.
And Seris—caught between the world she left and the one she was choosing—felt the pressure closing in.
Not with violence.
Not yet.
But with stories.
And stories, she knew, could kill just as surely.
---