The wind carried the smell of wet stone and iron. By the time Raymond and Elysia reached the safehouse, a crumbling monastery half-swallowed by vines, the sun had already vanished behind the Veil’s rim.The structure crouched against a cliff, its stained-glass windows black with centuries of dust. Elysia pushed open the warped door; it groaned like something waking from a nightmare.“Used to belong to the Order of the White Sigil,” she said. “They were healers before the Empire hunted them down. The Flow here is thin but steady, we can rest, for a few hours at least.”Raymond nodded, lowering himself onto a stone bench. His body ached; every breath felt like pulling shards of glass through his lungs. “I didn’t think healers could get hunted,” he muttered.Elysia shrugged out of her cloak, lighting a dim blue flame in her palm. “Anything that can undo death frightens rulers. They want control, not compassion.”The flame’s light painted her face in fractured hues, tired, haunted, but un