LEAKING IN THE LOWER CITY

Chapter 3:Leaking in the Lower City

  Lyra

The lower city always smelled of dust, hot metal, and desperation.

I had claimed a medical errand as cover, another dose adjustment, another quiet visit to the physician’s secondary clinic that no one of rank ever questioned. The suppressants were failing faster now. The emergency dose from the morning had already burned out. Every step through the crowded alleys sent a fresh wave of restless feet crawling under the bindings. My pulse felt too loud. My own scent pressed against the blockers like something alive trying to claw its way out.

The scarred informant waited in the back room of a shuttered assay office, exactly where the first note had said. He was older than the messenger from yesterday, face mapped with old burns and the deep lines of a man who had survived the mines longer than most. He did not waste time with greetings.

“Shipments are being tracked,” he said, voice low and rough. “Not by the usual officers. By the Empress’s private physician himself. He’s asking for names. Quantities. Delivery routes. Someone high up wants the supply cut, or controlled.”

My stomach turned cold even as my skin burned. The gentleman who sat beside my bed and spoke of loyalty. The one who adjusted my doses with careful hands. Of course it was him. Part of me had known since the first note. Knowing still landed like a blade.

“Can you reroute?” I asked. My voice stayed the soft, tired thing the court expected. Inside, I was calculating distances, bribes, and alternative suppliers.

“Maybe. For a price. And only if you can keep him off our backs.” He slid a thin packet across the scarred table. “Partial list of what he’s already requested. Burn it after.”

I took it. The paper felt too light for the weight it carried. The heat in the small room pressed harder. Sweat slid down my spine beneath the uniform. My vision flickered at the edges. The blockers were slipping. I could feel it, the first faint bloom of my true scent trying to rise.

I stood too fast. The room tilted.

“I need to go,” I managed.

The informant’s eyes narrowed. He smelled it too. “You’re leaking, boy. Get out before you bring the whole patrol down on us.”

I pushed through the back door into the alley. The desert heat hit like a physical blow. My knees threatened to fold. I braced one hand against the rough wall and forced air into lungs that did not want it. Just a few more streets. Just enough to reach the relative safety of the palace service entrance. I could not collapse here. Not with the packet against my skin and my scent starting to fray.

Boots. Multiple. The measured rhythm of a military patrol.

I tried to straighten, to resume the limp, but my body refused. A fresh wave of heat rolled through me, stronger, and this time I tasted the edge of my own scent in the air, warm, wrong, impossible to hide completely.

A shadow fell across the alley mouth, Ren.

He stood at the head of a small unit, sand still dusting his shoulders, slate-grey eyes locked on me. For a long second neither of us moved. I saw the exact moment he registered the unsteadiness in my stance, the flush high on my cheeks, the way I was breathing too shallowly. Something flickered behind the usual discipline. Not kindness. Something sharper.

“Prince.” His voice was flat, carrying easily over the alley noise. “You are a long way from the medical wing.”

I opened my mouth. No useful lie came.

He dismissed the patrol with a short gesture. They melted back into the street without question. Then he closed the distance in three strides, stopping close enough that I had to tip my head back to meet his eyes. The heat of his body cut through the fever already cooking me from the inside.

“You look ready to drop,” he said, still with no softness. “I will not carry a liability through the lower city. Walk.”

It was an order, not an offer. I walked. Every step was a negotiation with a body that wanted to fold. Ren stayed half a pace behind and to the side, close enough to catch me if I fell, far enough that no one would call it protection. The silence between us stretched tight. I could feel him watching the way I moved, cataloguing weaknesses the same way I catalogued everything else.

We reached the service gate without further incident. The packet stayed hidden. My scent stayed mostly locked. Barely.

Ren stopped me with a single look before I could slip inside.

“Whatever game you are playing in the lower city,” he said, voice low enough that only I could hear, “end it. Or learn to hide the cost better. Next time I may not be the one who finds you.”

He turned and walked away without waiting for an answer. I watched his back until he disappeared into the heat haze, jaw still tight, the weight of that too-long look from the council chamber still sitting between my shoulder blades.

I made it to my chambers before the next wave hit. The packet burned against my skin like a second fever. I locked the door, slid down the wall, and pressed my forehead to my knees while the suppressants fought a losing battle.

When I finally unfolded the list the informant had given me, one name at the bottom was circled in the same rough hand. Kaelan Vane.