The laughter faded slowly from Catreena's lips, leaving a warm ache in her cheeks. She was still smiling when she noticed the stall vendor's expression shift—his eyes widening, then quickly dropping to the ground.
That was the first sign.
The second was the sudden hush that rippled through the crowd, too faint for most to notice but sharp enough to prick her nerves.
Then came the voice.
"Catreena."
Her name cut through the market air like a whip.
She froze.
Two armored soldiers stood on the edge of the crowd, lanterns reflecting sharply off their breastplates. Between them stood the Prefect—his cloak heavy, his eyes colder than the steel at his hip.
Catreena's heart plummeted.
Someone must have seen her earlier. Someone must have reported her.
Of course they did. This city had eyes in its shadows.
Suad straightened at her side. She felt, more than saw, the shift in his posture—his easy amusement tightening into something sharper.
Before she could speak, he walked forward.
He stopped just inches from the Prefect, leaning in as though inspecting an object of mild curiosity. His grin returned, sharp as a blade.
"Your face looks uncomfortable under all that armor, Mister Soldier—"
"Prefect," the man snapped.
"Prefect," Suad echoed mockingly, backing away with a lazy tilt of his head. "Very fancy title. But I've noticed men with fancy names tend to puff themselves up… like birds trying to scare a carnivorous beast."
The Prefect bristled. "What did you just—"
Suad stepped closer, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper.
"Is it really the armor making you uneasy? Or something else?"
The Prefect stiffened. His grip tightened around his spear, knuckles whitening. For a heartbeat, Catreena thought Suad had pushed too far—that he would be dragged away alongside her.
But then Suad leaned in even closer and whispered something she could not catch.
Whatever he said, the effect was immediate.
The Prefect recoiled as if stung, his face flushing an angry red. His jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed with barely contained fury… yet he did not raise his weapon. He didn't even speak.
Suad stepped back, smiling like a cat that had knocked over a lamp and dared the owner to scold it.
Catreena tried to rush to his side—
but the soldiers moved first.
Hands seized her arms, cold metal gauntlets digging into her skin.
"W–wait—!" she gasped, struggling.
The grip tightened.
The crowd watched in silence. Some turned away; others stared with morbid sympathy. The vendor who had laughed moments ago lowered his gaze to the ground, trembling.
"By order of the Prefect," one soldier said, expression blank, "you are to come with us."
Her pulse hammered painfully. She twisted, reaching out blindly.
"Suad—!"
He didn't move.
He stood exactly where she left him, hands at his sides, head slightly tilted as though listening to something distant. The lantern light flickered over the blindfold covering his eyes, casting him in half-shadow.
She waited for him to step forward.
To say something.
To reach for her.
He didn't.
The moment stretched, heavy and suffocating.
The Prefect watched Suad with wary anger, but he did not stop the soldiers. He did not even acknowledge the boy again. His attention was solely on Catreena.
"Take her," he ordered.
The soldiers pulled her away.
Catreena stumbled, breath breaking in her chest. "Suad—! Do something!"
He flinched—barely.
A tiny, almost imperceptible movement.
But he didn't move to help.
Didn't speak.
Didn't even turn his head fully toward her.
The realization hit her like a cold wave.
He wasn't going to help.
He just stood there, expression unreadable beneath his blindfold, as the soldiers dragged her through the crowd.
Her heart cracked like thin glass.
The last thing she saw before they pulled her around the corner was Suad's silhouette, still and silent among the lanterns—
a ghost watching her disappear