They reached the first Free City outpost three days later.
Not the city from the vision.
This one was smaller — a border settlement sitting in the gap where the Iron Throne's authority ended and the Free Cities began, and neither side had agreed where that line truly was. Places like this developed a specific character over time: practical, forgettable, and careful not to notice things that required action.
The settlement was called Dross.
It had a market, a tavern, three competing aether fuel depots — and the transient density of somewhere people passed through rather than lived in.
Which made it useful.
They needed supplies. Information. And a way into the Free Cities that didn't pass through anyone who had seen a warrant.
Riven handled the supplies.
He moved through the market like he belonged there — no hesitation, no wasted motion. He bought what they needed, paid fairly, and left no impression behind. People didn't remember him because there was nothing to remember.
That, Aran noted, was a skill.
Aran handled information.
Not by asking questions.
By existing in places where answers were given freely.
The tavern at midday. The waiting benches near the fuel depots. The south end of the market where deals ended and loose talk began.
Three hours.
That was all it took.
Ironhaven.
Largest of the Free Cities. Industrial core. Three days southwest.
And something had gone wrong.
Two weeks ago, the lower districts had begun to empty. Not officially. No announcements. No alarms.
People had just — left.
Lights underground. Sounds beneath the streets. A pressure no one could explain but everyone felt.
The council called it a refinery incident.
No one in Dross believed that.
A cart rattled past him too quickly, driver hunched forward, not looking at anything behind him.
Aran watched it disappear into the road.
People didn't leave like that unless something followed.
He ate without tasting and went to find Sora.
She had already found him.
And she had more.
Sora worked differently.
Where Aran listened, she connected.
Every settlement had a message network. Every network had operators. And operators survived by knowing things before they became dangerous.
She found Dross's in under an hour.
A back office in a fuel depot. Run by a woman who didn't give her name and didn't need to.
Sora brought back two things.
Both precise.
Both dangerous.
"There's a warrant," she said.
Aran didn't react.
"Conclave," she added.
That mattered.
The description was accurate.
All three of them.
Cass had reported.
Good, Aran thought. That means he chose survival over loyalty. Correct decision.
Sora continued.
"There's an addition."
That made him look at her.
She recited it exactly:
"The one with the fractured eye is not to be harmed. Deliver intact."
Silence.
Not apprehend.
Not return.
Deliver.
Transaction language.
"They're not hunting me," Aran said quietly.
Sora didn't ask how he knew.
"They're collecting me."
Which meant a buyer.
Which meant intent.
Which meant this had started long before the platform.
Two forces.
One tried to kill him early.
One wanted him intact.
Different methods. Different timing.
Not aligned.
Which meant a third problem.
The real one.
Something that understood enough to want him alive.
Something that knew about the boundary.
Something that was pushing from underneath a city.
Riven found him at the edge of Dross, looking west.
He didn't interrupt immediately.
He had learned that silence wasn't empty — it was processing.
"The warrant," Riven said eventually.
"Yes."
"The 'deliver intact' part."
"Yes."
"Someone inside the Conclave is working for someone else."
"Or being paid by them."
Riven frowned slightly. "Difference?"
"Control," Aran said. "And leverage."
Riven accepted that.
Looked at the road.
"Three days."
"Approximately."
"With a warrant active."
"Yes."
"Still going?"
"Yes."
"Because of the woman?"
"No." Aran said. "Because something is pushing against the boundary from inside a populated structure, and people are abandoning ground without being told to."
A pause.
"That is not a situation that improves with time."
Riven nodded.
"When we get there," he said, "you're going in."
"Yes."
"And we stay outside."
"Probably."
Riven exhaled once.
"I need a better device."
Aran glanced at him.
"The last one barely held," Riven continued. "Next time we won't get lucky."
"Can you build it?"
"Give me three days."
"Build it."
Riven nodded once.
"Already started."
They left Dross before noon.
No one stopped them.
But someone watched.
Aran felt it — not directly, not clearly. Just a misalignment. A fraction of attention that didn't belong to any visible source.
For half a second, the road ahead bent wrong.
Distance stretched too far.
Then snapped back.
He didn't stop walking.
The sixth point hadn't reached for him.
But it was still there.
Still aware.
Still waiting.
Sora matched his pace without asking.
Behind them, Dross continued as if nothing had changed.
As if nothing had noticed them.
Aran didn't look back.
Because if something had —
It wouldn't stay in Dross.