The narrow road to Dustrim was dry and cracked, the earth scorched by years without rain.
As they entered the village, Kael immediately noticed the difference.
The buzzing that had haunted the streets yesterday—swarms of blood-flies—was nearly gone. Coils of smoke still curled up from clay dishes near every hut. The air smelled sharp—herbs, and the faint tang of burned mint.
The carriage stopped.
Kael stepped down first, adjusting the satchel strap across his shoulder. Marrek climbed down beside him.
"You'll stay close?" Kael asked.
The Tigerman gave a short nod. "At your side. This place is still under quarantine, but I won't wait outside while you walk into danger."
Kael offered a faint smile. "Thanks."
They walked toward the largest hut, known as the Sick House.
The priest met them at the entrance.
"You came back," he said quietly, eyes on Kael.
Then his gaze shifted.
