Chapter 14. The Silver Brand

The dormitory doors are still sealed when Aeryn returns. Dawn has bled only half its pale gold into the sky, and most of the children lie curled beneath threadbare blankets, chasing the last warmth of colder dreams. Yet the nursery wing breathes awake—not in chatter or footsteps, but in scent.

Aeryn inhales the edge of it first: ash. Not the soft residue of last night’s hearth, nor the gentle drift of kitchen fires. This bitterness is metallic, ancient—like a brand cooled too fast yet refusing to let go of your skin. It crawls into her lungs, a parched regret that tastes of rust and old embers.

Sera stands at the threshold, silent. Her shoulders are coiled; her spine straight as a blade. Her dark eyes sweep the walls as though they might tilt or whisper secrets. Aeryn knows she feels it too—the building’s pulse, shifted overnight into a warning.

“They know we left,” Sera murmurs, voice low as falling ash.

Aeryn says nothing. She steps into the common hall wit