The rest of Raya's day passed in a soupy haze. Though disorientating, thick with activity and armed with gnawing, demanding teeth that never let go, the hours dragged, eking by like weights tacked to her ankles. Every little thing carried double the strain as usual, and she barely recalled how to breathe.

She thought of the beastfolk boy constantly. When she was summoned to patch up a rooftop that had been torn off during the breach, his scars scissored through her mind, flickering a veil over the beige fabric her magic-speckled fingers sewed back together until its warmth seemed to pulse. A child's shout stopped her in her tracks in the middle of the city, for a moment identical to his anguished scream. Beneath their dense covering of leaves, the way the branches of this copse of trees snapped and jerked, forming pointed, jagged paths that stretched high above her head, reminded her too eerily of his antlers.

Draped in the canopy's cool shade, she let her palm drop from its place on a tree's trunk and sagged against it, her hold on the dust slipping. This was impossible. Her gut felt like it was being twisted into a corkscrew, pinched and spun in circles that drilled into her stomach, and her mind would not quiet. Even the rough bark that dug into her forehead refused to ease the chaos of her worry.

No-one would discover him while she was away. Logic dictated that; she'd hung her bedroom curtain and fumbled a locking spell on the door, one that wouldn't hold against any serious scrutiny but only had to keep Yasmin out. She remembered doing that, recalled the magic grinding tight over her knuckles like illusionary chains, and knew it was simple enough to work. Still every shadow looked like a hand ready to snag her throat, or a looming senior waiting to drag her away.

Jaw clenched, she rolled to press her spine into the tree and leaned back. Her fingers tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and granted her view of the sky. Late afternoon simmered the shade of darkened sapphires, combed by strands of sunlight. Stillness rippled in waves through the thick network of branches coiled around her. Peace trickled between the emerald leaves. She sucked in a slow breath and held it, trying to settle her fluttering heart.

If he awoke, she was prepared for that too. He wouldn't harm anyone, and no-one would harm him, and worrying did nothing to alter either possibility. The worry only made her look more suspicious. She pushed herself straight, casting a hurried glance out at the street that curved around the web of trees. Sand drifted limply along the length of the barren path, kicked up by the occasional passerby, but none looked her way. She shoved the air out as a long sigh and made her shoulders relax.

If anything, a more realistic concern was that she'd return to find a corpse in her bed.

A shudder dribbled down her spine, thick and sticky as honey but lacking any sweet tang. A live monster or a dead one. Even with her choice made, her stomach churned with indecision, the two halves of a problem swaying upon creaking, unsettled scales. She did want to save him. She had to; that was the purpose of all this trouble. Yet fear rotted somewhere deep within her, filling her nose and mouth with horrid, bitter fumes.

With a shake of her head, she bent, scooping up a round fruit that had fallen from a branch higher up. "A mage does not fear," she murmured, running a thumb over its soft, crimson skin. It looked as if it bled.

Did the other laws of the mages still apply when she was so disastrously breaking one?

Something tapped the tree beside her. "Hello?"

The fruit gave way beneath Raya's flinching grip. Dropping it before the juice could stain her hand, she whirled, breath hitching as her heart raced.

Her jitters froze over within the instant, sinking so solidly into her shoes that she nearly stumbled with the ricocheted up-and-down of emotion. The long, hooked staff outstretched towards her was a cane, clutched by a dark hand that mirrored hers in shape and decoration, though this figure was male. His ink-blot hair was trimmed short against his neck, though neatly-combed bangs swept his forehead. A blue cloth covered his eyes. His face was angled towards the empty space over her shoulder, but the steady smile that quirked his lips made it feel as if his phantom gaze pierced right between her ribs. Though in reality he saw nothing at all, her brother had an omniscience about him that she couldn't help but lean into, like the certainty of his presence was something solid and meant for comfort.

His chin tilted in a vague nod. "Raya." Satisfied, he withdrew his cane and set it down beside him, fingers curled firmly atop it. "I thought it was you."

Useless as it was, she flicked him a small smile, hoping he could hear it leak into her voice. "It is me. You startled me, Hariq."

The cloth bunched as Hariq furrowed his brow. "Did I?" His grip shifted on his cane, and he swung into a cautious pace, bringing him level with the treeline. His other hand reached out in her direction. "What puts you so on edge, Raya?"

With hesitance, she accepted his invitation, clasping his palm and twining their fingers. Her teeth dug into her lip. Much as she appreciated Hariq's perceptiveness, it made hiding her feelings from him a challenge. She did her best to level out her tone, pouring in ease and grace. "Nothing. A little tired, is all. How are you?"

He loosed a short sigh in lieu of a response. Tightening his grip, he tugged on her hand, towing her closer. His head tilted downwards. In answer, she stood taller on her toes in order to touch her forehead to his. Genuine calm picked at the knots tangled in her neck, and she leaned in, appreciating the familiarity of his weight and his closeness.

That weight increased as he pushed back. "Drop your act," he murmured, losing only a touch of his voice's gentle glide to the grate of exasperation.

"What act?" she asked as innocently as possible.

He laughed and shoved her away, grabbing ahold of his cane to sweep it between them. He slouched forward onto it with folded arms. "Asking any question of you is like catching raindrops." The teasing crook of his smile melted, folding into a darkened, solemn line. "Zayd sought me out. He described his encounter with you this morning."

A bony fist nestled in Raya's gut. She curled her hands in her cloak, creasing it between her fingers in yellow loops while she fought to keep her breathing steady. She should've known that word would spread. She should've better held herself together; every little flaw had a risk, a price.

"He was concerned for you." Earnest brimmed her brother's words. "We both know it's not like you to speak offhand. What's troubling you?"

Every little flaw. She collected the words slowly, one by one, grateful for the elastic give of his patience as the seconds ticked by. Even when she found her voice, it was in disconnected pieces, its flow skipping from one beat to the next; she couldn't risk letting her tongue sprint ahead and run into a dead end. "I suppose I'm feeling somewhat lost," she began. "Caught up in my own head, perhaps. I... made a choice, earlier today, and I can't help but fear that regret will make me pay for my choice." She swallowed, aware of the shift of her throat. "I fear that I am in the wrong. I'm filled with fear, and that in itself is wrong, so I..."

Hariq's arm closed around her, pulling her in. Gratitude flickered through her as weak, limping torchlight, only serving to dampen the heavy soil of her guilt. She let her head tuck into his chest and curled her nails into her palm in the same motion. His warmth and the sharp sting of pain clashed, grating through her.

"I'm just a little distracted," she murmured. "And shaky, I suppose." She eased herself back, unfurling from the partial embrace to look up at his face. "But it's all my responsibility, not yours, so please don't worry."

Perhaps she leaned on that please a little too long, desperate as she was to wriggle from the noose of his searching questions before he snagged the truth. Her nails dug tighter.

His silence ruminated. With half of his expression concealed, Hariq was often a difficult person to read, particularly when the stoic, thoughtful set of his lips could tie with any manner of emotions. Eventually, he patted her shoulder. "If you are plagued by fear," he mused, "then I know a perfect place for you to find solace."

Relief skittered through her chest, flighty and feeble but enough. She might not have read it in his face, but that resonant surety that twined his voice, hard as a steel pole and just as difficult to resist, came alongside only one topic. "The temple?" she guessed.

With a flourish, he lifted his cane, sketching a line across the path that stirred up the sand to dance around his ankles. Its azure surface wove the sunlight into a hazy pattern, flecking his long robe with the illusion of gemstones. When he posed that way, expression anchored with concentration and lips tugged at by the slightest, annoying twitch of self-righteousness, she usually couldn't help but hold back a laugh. Today, however, it wouldn't come. She let him have his moment and speak uninterrupted. Maybe this time he was right in his faith.

"If you are lost," he proclaimed, "what better place to find yourself in than the house of our benevolent god?"

A chill rolled over her bones, and she fought a shiver. It was a hefty maybe.

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