The deeper they went into Greshan's inner web, the more the city seemed to warp around them.
There were no uniform buildings here. Only tangled roads and alleyways stitched together like overlapping thoughts.
Colors were too bright in some corners, completely washed out in others. Market squares morphed into blacksmith rows, which bled into apothecary tents, which then collapsed into shadowy cafés half-occupied by masked wanderers.
Arielle strode forward with confidence—but calculated confidence. She knew how to blend.
Damien walked slightly behind and to the left, head lowered just enough to hide his eyes from passersby, yet his senses were stretched taut like a bowstring.
The first few minutes were normal.
Busy crowds.
Bustling stalls.
A few unusually long stares, but nothing concrete.
And then…
He felt it.
