Water rushed somewhere down the street, a heavy surge followed by the rasp of stone settling.
Fire hissed where rain found it, short breaths of steam lifting from broken beams. The inn's front had split outward, boards flung into the road, shutters torn free and pinned under fallen masonry.
Jerenir stood there, upright, boots planted on bare stone. His coat hung straight, edges clean despite the debris scattered around him.
Walls had burst away from his position, bodies thrown clear in wide arcs that left a ring of space untouched.
Seris lay half-buried near the inn's threshold. Blood ran from her temple, dark against her skin, soaking into her hair and the grit beneath her cheek. Her fingers twitched once, then stilled. Her breath came shallow, counted, each pull scraping past pain. Her eyes stayed open, unfocused, fixed on nothing she could name.
