We turned left, crossing a street with crooked lampposts that flickered like the light was afraid of itself. The neighborhood around us changed fast — the pavement got worse, the houses stood closer together, the windows shut without visible hands.
Antoril breathed differently here. Like the air itself refused to move.
"The Andros chapel is past the old market," I murmured. "After that, it's just the ruins sector. No one goes there by accident."
"This woman doesn't show up by accident either."
She quickened her pace.
The city changed its tone.
With every corner, Antoril looked different. Smaller. More closed off. Like it was hunching its shoulders, trying to hide what was coming next.
The street we crossed split into three narrow alleys, each more crooked than the last. Two led into absolute darkness. The third looked too well-lit, like a stage set by the wrong hands.
Thalia hesitated.
"This isn't the way?" she asked, trying to read an invisible map in the air.
