3. HUNTING SHADOWS ᵇᵉˡˡᵃᵐʸ ᵇˡᵃᵏᵉ

4. a lie guarded

-A LIE GUARDED-
"but Trikova-- we won't last against her"

##

Sairah sits on the edge of her bed, the cool morning air drifting through the cracked window of her room. Sunlight filters in, casting soft rays across her face as she ties her hair back, preparing herself for the day ahead. Her thoughts drift to her conversation with Bellamy the night before, their voices connecting across the distance via the old radio system Skaikru had left behind in Polis. His voice had been calm, steady, but beneath that calmness, she could hear the weight of responsibility. They had both been through too much for any conversation to feel truly light these days.

She promised him she would visit Arkadia today. It was time to reconnect. But more than that, she just needed to see him—to be reminded of why she kept fighting through all the blood and betrayal. She couldn't deny that Bellamy had become something more to her, even if she tried to bury that truth beneath layers of duty and survival.

Sighing, Sairah grabs her gear—her swords, her leather armor—and starts to strap everything on, each piece an extension of herself, a reminder of who she has become. She adjusts the straps, ensuring everything is secure before heading toward the door. But just as her hand reaches for the handle, there's a knock from the other side.

She pauses, her brow furrowing in confusion, then swings the door open to find one of Azgeda's warriors standing there, his hand still raised mid-knock. His posture stiffens as their eyes meet, and he clears his throat nervously.

"King Roan is expecting you, Trikova," the warrior says, giving a slight bow as he addresses her with the respect she has grown accustomed to in Azgeda. The people here had long learned to show deference to her, not just as a warrior but as someone Roan valued—someone with power in their fractured world.

Sairah narrows her eyes, suspicion flaring up. "Why?" she asks, her tone blunt. She wasn't aware of any meeting with Roan today, and truth be told, she'd been hoping to avoid him after their last conversation. It had left her feeling unsettled, unsure of where they stood—both as allies and as something... more complicated.

The warrior hesitates, glancing away briefly before meeting her gaze again. "I wasn't told anything else but to inform you, Trikova."

Sairah exhales sharply through her nose, rolling her eyes in frustration. "Fine. Lead the way."

With a curt nod, the warrior turns and begins walking down the corridor, and Sairah follows closely behind, her mind already working through possibilities. What could Roan want now? He had been increasingly on edge since the news of Praimfaya's return had spread—rightfully so. They were all living on borrowed time.

As they approach the grand doors of the throne room, Sairah spots another familiar face being escorted in the same direction—Kane. The older man's presence only deepens her confusion, and she quickens her pace to fall in step beside him.

"What the hell is going on, Kane?" she asks, her voice low but tense. She had a feeling whatever this was, it wasn't good.

Kane glances at her, his own brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't know," he admits, his tone equally concerned. "I was just summoned."

They reach the large doors, and without waiting for formalities, Sairah pushes them open, striding inside with Kane at her side. The throne room is dimly lit, the shadows of the towering pillars stretching across the stone floor. Roan sits on his throne, his expression dark and brooding. He looks up as they enter, and there's a flash of something in his eyes—anger, frustration, maybe even desperation.