The second floor’s dormitory was a cramped mess. Wooden beds lay pressed together in uneven rows.

  Calling them beds was generous. They were more like carved holes in the floor—just large enough for a body to lie in. More coffin than anything else.

  And it was filthy. Really filthy. Stains of who knows what marked the wooden floor like the countless spots of a leopard. Metal bars came down to form windows, letting in shades of moonlight in certain places.

  Kael swore he saw a rat. It scurried around, quick as lightning, then hid under a cracked counter.

  It felt more like a prison.

  And definitely not a boarding house.

  “Great,” Mara muttered under her breath. “It’s like I never left Varkesh.”

  “I hope you all like sleeping with rats,” Eyrk said, trying to lighten the mood.

  No one laughed. Everyone was just tired.

  Yoan stepped forward, unconcerned.

  “It’s a roof,” he said. “That’s more than most get.”

  Lira leaned against one of the splintered posts of a bed. She glanced around. At the room. At the other occupants.

  There were a few people scattered across. Some stared back, while others just tried to sleep in a sarcophagus of what was a bed.

  “It doesn’t feel safe,” she whispered intentionally. “No locks. No privacy.”

  Yoan shrugged.

  “Who cares. “One night,” he said. “That’s what the man paid for. After that, we’re done with this place.”

  “Did anyone catch his name?” Lira asked.

  Kael shook his head. “Didn’t give one.”

  Kael knelt beside one of the empty hollows and tested it with a hand. The wood was rough. And damp near the edges.

  He sat down anyway.

  One by one, the others picked their beds.

  Yoan unstrapped his sword and kept it close. Junnesa took a spot between him and Kael. Eyrk stretched out with a groan on the bed, cursing as his elbow hit a spring. Mara didn’t say a word, just lay down and stared at the ceiling. Lira didn’t lie down at all. She sat against a wall, knees to her chest.

  There was no fire. No blanket. Just a dirty room that smelled like blood and sweat.

  Kael leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment.

  “It feels like we’re in a tomb,” Eyrk muttered.

  “No tomb could be this loud,” Mara said, looking toward the far end of the room. Someone was snoring like a bear.

  Silence fell.

  The weight of the day pressed down on Kael. Blood. Gods. Names. The Spine.

  “I don’t think I like this place,” Junnesa whispered.

  Kael didn’t either. He didn’t think anyone did.

  No one responded. They didn’t have the strength.

  Slowly, the room settled.

  Kael’s eyes drifted shut.

  And for the first time since the blood sea, there was no voice in his head. No gods. No monsters.

  Just silence.

  But the silence didn’t last long.

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  Kael was standing in fire. He felt his body burning alive.

  Fire trickled up his arms and legs, tying him down like vines. He felt his skin tearing, bubbling. It quickly turned black and then, ash.

  Yet, Kael didn’t die.

  The pain was surreal, unbearable, but every time he attempted to scream, his voice refused to respond.

  Around him were various creatures, beings–things. They were hunched, whispering among one another. Just watching him.

  Above him, a moon burned black. It reflected no light; it was just a hole in the sky. The moon twisted, and where it had been, a blade appeared. A burning black blade. Empty, like it was carved from nothingness.

  He tried to step forward to get away from the flames. But his foot only hit bone. Hundreds of skulls stacked one after another. He took another step, and he fell through the stack of skulls, falling.

  He fell into an endless abyss of flames.

  He heard his name ringing in the abyss. Not Kael.

  The Last Ember.

  He tried to scream again, but only fire poured out of his throat.

  And then a hand reached toward him. Not to save. Not to pull. To take.

  It was made of different colors of smoke, with rings on each finger. It gripped his chest. Pressed on it, hard.

  And pushed. And Kael fell again, this time deeper, brighter. Hotter.

  He sat up in a gasp, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest.

  Around him was just darkness. No more flames, no skulls. Just the sour stink of his sweat and wheezing snoring.

  He blinked. Tried to breathe.

  Then, a voice came quietly from the side.

  “Nightmare?”

  Lira.

  She sat near the wall, knees still to her chest, like she hadn’t slept in the first place. Eyes open. Watching him.

  Kael swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

  She didn’t press. Just nodded back, like she understood.

  “I was burning,” he said after a pause. His voice was hoarse. “Couldn’t scream. Couldn’t move. Just... burned.”

  Lira looked down at her arms, wrapped tightly around her legs. “You get used to it.”

  Kael raised an eyebrow.

  “The nightmares,” she said. “Or visions. Or whatever the Spine decides to shove down your throat while you sleep. Some are memories, some are warnings. Some are just cruelty for the sake of it.”

  He didn’t reply at first.

  Then, “How do you know so much?"

  Lira didn’t answer right away. Her eyes drifted toward the window. A sliver of moonlight caught her face as she looked back at Kael.

  “I listen,” she said finally. “And I don’t sleep much.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  She shrugged. “It’s the only one you’re getting tonight.”

  Kael leaned against the wall. The stone was cold against his spine.

  Lira didn’t look away.

  “You don’t strike me as the curious type,” she said, her voice low.

  “I’m not.”

  “Then why ask?”

  He thought about that. Stared at the floor.

  “Because you always seem like you know more than you let on,” he muttered. “And because… I think I’d rather hear your voice than my thoughts right now.”

  That earned a small sound from her. Not quite a laugh. But not nothing either.

  “Careful,” she said. “Flattery might actually work on me.”

  Kael smirked faintly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  They both fell into silence. Not awkward, not heavy. But one thick with things better left unsaid.

  Lira stretched one leg out, her boot tapping the cracked floor softly. Her gaze drifted to the window, to the moon, and then back to Kael.

  “You were brave,” she said. “Jumping like that.”

  Kael shook his head. “No. Just desperate. And foolish”

  “Those things aren’t always different.” Lira tilted her head, a faint smile on her face. “Sometimes they look the same from the outside.”

  He studied her for a moment. He looked at her, really looked. Her tone wasn’t pity, not admiration. Just truth, honest truth.

  “Didn’t think you noticed,” he said.

  “I notice everything,” she replied. “That’s how I’ve stayed alive.”

  “Do you trust anyone?” he asked.

  She tilted her head. “That’s a stupid question.”

  “Of course, I do.”

  She paused for a second.

  “But I’m starting to trust you a little,” she added, just before turning her eyes away again. “Not much. Just enough to not watch my back every second you’re near.”

  Lira leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes.

  “Don’t die, Kael,” she said, barely above a whisper. "There are too many ghosts here already.”

  For a moment, he thought she had fallen asleep. But then her lips opened again.

  “Whatever happens, Kael. Keep something of yourself. Even here.”

  He didn’t know what to say. So he said the only thing that felt right.

  “I’ll try.”

  And for a while, neither of them moved.

  He heard the hissing of steam beyond the walls. He heard the faint sound of machines clinking together. He heard the sound of people talking in the alleyways.

  Kael lay back down on the hard bed, closing his eyes.

  “Good night, Kael.”

  “Good night, Lira.”