Rosaline pulled her hood lower over her face as she stepped out from the alleyway, the smell of city smoke and dust clinging to her like static. Her hands were trembling, but she kept them tucked into the folds of her coat. One misstep, one glance too long in the wrong direction, and the Shadows would have her throat split open before she could beg.
They had been on her since the poisoning failed.
Since the Emperor bled and lived, and Gabriel didn't fall.
She hadn't slept in a proper bed in weeks. Hadn't eaten without checking for ether residue or bitter aftertaste. Every safehouse she touched turned cold within hours. The few loyal aides she had left were gone, taken, or turned. Even now, even here, in the outer ring of the Capital, she could feel eyes behind her, watching, waiting.
She slipped between two vendors, avoiding the stall selling charmed textiles, keeping her head down—
And froze.
The square ahead had erupted in cheers.
