Smoke curled from the alley behind the herbal stalls. Not from cooking fires — but from the blast scorch still burning on the wall.
Leia stood still.
Cloak on.
Hands clenched.
Across from her, a gang of three laughed as they circled. They were young — older teens, cloaked in tattered red — but their eyes gleamed with confidence.
"You think we don't know?" the tallest one sneered, flame curling lazily from his palm. "People say you've got something in that coat. Something special."
Leia didn't answer. She was watching his hands, not his mouth.
"We just want your scraps," the second one said, trying to sound friendly. "Cloth, thread, whatever magic book you're hiding. It's not worth bleeding over."
Leia's cloak shifted slightly in the breeze, the weighted hem brushing her boots.
"Last chance," the first said. "You hand it over, or he cooks you."
A pause.
Then Leia spoke. "Try."
The boy laughed — then threw his hand forward.
FWOOM.
Fire roared out, a blast of orange and red.
The heat hit her chest dead-on.
The crowd screamed.
But Leia didn't move.
When the flames cleared…
…she stood.
Still.
The cloak smoked faintly — edges charred, but the rune glowed a sharp gold.
Her boots skidded back a half-step, but she didn't fall.
Didn't break.
The gang fell silent.
Even the fire-user looked stunned.
"You—what—"
Leia reached into her bag, pulled out a needle — silver, rune-etched.
"I stitched this to protect. And it listened."
She stepped forward.
The gang stepped back.
For the first time in weeks, she was the one being watched.
Not with pity.
With fear.
With awe.
---
Later, as the crowd slowly dispersed and the gang stumbled off into shadows, Leia slumped behind a wall.
Her hands shook. Her chest throbbed.
The cloak had held — but just barely.
The runes flickered. Her wrist ached.
"Too much," she whispered. "It's still too much."
But she smiled.
Because it had worked.
---
A boy — the same who had peeked at her before — stood quietly near the far wall, eyes wide.
He watched her pull the cloak off and fold it carefully, fingers trembling.
He whispered the words he'd heard others mutter earlier that day:
> "The thread witch… she doesn't break."
---
Across the rooftops, the man in the black coat watched again. Beside him, the same assistant from before.
"She survived a fireblast," the assistant murmured.
The man smiled faintly.
"She's no longer hiding."
---
That night, Leia didn't dream.
She simply slept.
Cloak folded beside her. Hands raw. Heart beating steady.
And for the first time…
…she believed she might win.