I take a deep breath and clear my throat.

“I’ve had enough! You two can go on your merry way, but I’m staying right here!” I shout.

“Oh yeah?” Evelyn shouts back. “We don’t need you! If anything, we’ll be home faster without you.”

“Lots of talk from someone who can’t even read a map. Maybe go and find some other idiot to string along.”

An old lady behind a vegetable stand gives me stink eye before handing a basket of turnips to an equally disapproving customer. Evelyn rears back, hand clutched to her heart and gasping indignantly. She better simmer down or she’ll ruin whatever shreds of believability we’ve managed to piece together.

“Don’t give yourself too much credit. The way I remember it going, we’re in this mess because you couldn’t go incognito for more than fifteen minutes,” she says with a sneer.

“And you wouldn’t have lasted fifteen minutes without us,” I shoot back.

“Please. I’ve seen more impressive magic from a pack of cards.” Hey, wait a minute.

“Fuck you – big talk from the girl with a power so shit that the cult doesn’t even want you.”

“You little-” She jerks forward but Emmet and Abbey get between us.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Emmet whispers, pulling me back. “Remember the plan.” Oh yeah.

“Well, we’re done. C’mon Emmet.” I turn sharply and stalk off through the market stalls, ignoring the judgmental looks from the passing shoppers. Emmet comes up beside me and we swerve around a fruit stand and pretend to inspect their produce.

Evelyn and Abbey stand in the middle of the market square, loudly gesticulating and appearing generally outraged. After another round of nodding sympathetically, Abbey points a thumb towards the town gates and the two of them set off out of town, Evelyn stamping along with clenched fists.

Emmet pokes my arm and nods towards a set of robed figures who had just popped out of an alley and now trail after the them. One pauses and flicks their eyes over the marketplace. I turn my face and become suddenly fascinated with the avocado in my hand. I glance back and the cultists are already making tracks towards the gates. Fucking hook, line and sinker.

“You should really apologise to her, lad,” a voice startles me and I turn around to see the fruit stand owner looking at me from under his bushy eyebrows. “It’s not too late, you know,” he gives me a solemn nod and then towards the gates. “Here, give these to her,” he hands me a satchel, “womenfolk love strawberries.” He gives me a conspiratorial wink and slaps my shoulder.

“What? No, it’s not like that,” I try to hand the satchel back, but a gnarled hand grabs my shoulder and spins me around.

“Give her these too,” some old bint thrusts a bunch of daisies into my arms. “Apologise on your knees, you hear? She deserves it after those horrid things you said.” Some dipshits echo the sentiment from the peanut gallery, and I surrender to the indignity of it all.

“Yeah, thanks, sure,” I mutter, pushing through, and hurrying after the cultists. Emmet chuckles beside me and I stuff everything into my bag. “Not a word,” I hiss and he just smiles back infuriatingly.

We hurry towards the gate and I poke my head out to check the road, ignoring the mildly bemused looks from the town watchmen. I spot the distant figures of Evelyn and Abbey wandering down the forest road, hearing brief snatches of Evelyn’s attempts at whistling intermittently carried to us on the wind.

The three cultists follow at a distance that could charitably be called discreet. Though their black hooded robes sort of ruin the effort somewhat.

I give Emmet a thumbs up and we slip through the gate, hurrying towards the tree line that shadows the road. We move from tree to tree, trusting in the dappled light to blend us in, rather than our innate sneakiness.

I try my best, but soon find out that it’s all but impossible to move silently amongst a pile of dry leaves and gnarled roots. Luckily, our marks seem to be too wrapped up in their own stalking to notice our stalking. Or maybe their hoods just block out their hearing too much. Either way, they can’t be the most perceptive bunch – having joined a cult and all.

Evelyn and Abbey pass a fallen log and take a sharp left turn into the woods. The cultists pick up the pace, drawing closer to their prey and giving a spirited attempt to move subtly through the undergrowth. They obviously fail completely, but it does let Emmet and I draw closer without fear of being heard.

As I dare manifest that thought, I step on a stick and a dry crack bounces between the trees. One of the robes whirls around and I dive behind a surly oak tree. The cultist rips their hood away and I press into the shadows as Emily glares into the forest.

It’s faintly surprising to run into her again – I was expecting to reel in a couple of goons instead. Though it is nice to know that the enemy also just hangs around, waiting for something to happen. One of the other cultists, who I now recognise from the ferry, taps Emily on the shoulder and they resume their stalking.

I give them a moment to start making noise again, before Emmet and I slip out from cover to follow. Ahead of us, Evelyn and Abbey have stopped in a little clearing. The cultists draw closer, but they ignore them, instead bending over to touch their toes. The cultists reach the tree line, just outside the circle and Emmet taps me on the shoulder. Evelyn appears unaware, leaning on her sword as she stretches her quads.

The closest cultist jumps out from behind his tree and opens his mouth, no doubt to lay on the brimstone, but I’m already in motion. With a snap of my fingers, wisps of black mana trail after me, and I knock into the rearmost cultist. We tumble to the ground and I scrabble my hands over his robes until I find bare skin.

“Befoul.”

Black poison shoots through his veins and his eyes rolls back. I push him off as he vomits and starts to spasm, then dive away as my hindbrain kicks in and lightning scorches past my head. The other cultist goon shouts obscenities at me and more lightning sparks between his fingers.

I shuffle behind a tree and grab hold of the downed cultist’s foot. I heave and start dragging him, all the while trying to keep my head down as lightning glasses the dirt by my foot. Emmet slides in beside me and starts healing the poisoned cultist as I prop him up against the tree.

I give him a nod and burst out into the open, flicking a firebolt in the other cultist’s general direction as I dive behind a pine tree. When the trunk fails to disintegrate, I poke my head out just in time to see Abbey run up and punch the cultist in the jaw.

Like any respectable mage, he collapses unconscious. I flash a thumbs up to Abbey and rush into the clearing.

Evelyn backflips as the ground erupts underneath her, then dances across the roiling earth. She swings her sword – swaddled in stolen bedsheets, at her insistence – and Emily manifests a translucent shield in mid-air. The sword deflects off the shield in a dramatic shower of sparks and Evelyn rolls underneath a burst of energy – looking none the worse for wear, albeit slightly green from all the spinning.

I throw a firebolt at Emily as I draw closer, but she swats it away almost absentmindedly. As irksome as that is, I still manage to do my job as she becomes momentarily distracted and fails to notice Evelyn’s sword darting between her defences.

Her usually impassive face gives way to a grunt of pain and stumbles. She clicks her tongue and grimaces as Abbey rushes out of the woods, and her goons fail to follow. Evelyn raises her sword for another swing, and Emily turns to her with an irritated scowl.

“I surrender.”

The soft words cut clear through the glade and Evelyn snaps out of her trance – immediately crashing into Emily in an uncoordinated tangle of limbs. I hurry forward to extract Evelyn, before she knocks herself out with her own sword. Emily just lies there, body loose, and staring into the sky with a blank expression. She regards me with a spectacularly unimpressed look as I fish out more bedsheets and try to figure out how to restrain her.

“Do you mind?” I end up asking her. She sighs and sits up, hands behind her back. I mumble my thanks and leave her arms swaddles in blankets. Somehow, I feel like this dynamic is a little skewed.

“I can’t believe that worked so well,” Evelyn exclaims as Abbey and Emmet drag the two other cultists out of the thicket.

The one I’d poisoned is looking a little better – as far as I can tell, through the crusted-on vomit. Emmet hits him with another dose of healing magic, but the worse seems to have passed. The one that Abbey had punched is almost lucid, and actually being decent enough to look equal parts enraged and terrified.

“Pull them against the tree,” I say, locking eyes with the cultist and drawing out the words. His eyes flick nervously between us, before taking a breath and spitting at me. I give him a toothy grin in return and Evelyn elbows me with a disapproving frown. Does she not understand how interrogation is meant to work?

“Alright cult people,” Evelyn takes the initiative away from me, and immediately fumbling the tension. “We’re going to ask some questions, and we want honest answers. Capiche?”

The poisoned one stirs and manages to look at her with uncomprehending eyes. Black-eye cultist has one string to his bow, so spits on the grass again. Emily just nods. I ignore her blank judgmental eyes and turn to Black-eye.

“The lightning. How did you do it? What’s the incantation?”

“Lucien,” Evelyn shoves me aside. “We’ve got actually important things to ask.” She looks each of them dead in the eye. “How about we start with you,” she jabs a finger at Poisoned. “What’s your deal?”

He blinks stupidly at her, struggling to focus his eyes through the recent almost-lethal poisoning. “Who are you?” He pulls weakly at his restraints and turns to me. “Can I go now?”

“No.” I say, rubbing my eyes as Emmet hurries forward to give the poor idiot another dose of healing.

“How about you,” Evelyn points to Black-eye. “What do you people want?”

His eyes light up like he’s been waiting his entire life to answer that question.

“The fell empire has kept the lands under the heel of darkness for too long! The people have toiled under these twilight skies, feeling the whips of the ungrateful and denigration from our false rulers. Even The Mother’s infinite grace finds itself smothered amidst the darkness as Caithurt uses Her greatness for her cruel designs. My sisters and brothers fight to free The Mother from those shackles and bring Her Light to the people!” He finally sucks in a breath, his eyes bugging out of his head. I clamp my hand over his mouth.

“We’re not looking for the recruitment pitch. What’s Sable’s game?” I address the question to Emily, who seems to be the only one in possession of more than half a teaspoon of grey matter.

She nods politely and clears her throat – somehow, that’s more off-putting than Black-eye’s shouting. “My brother is correct. His Lordship indeed seeks to free The Mother from Caithurt’s control.”

I give her a hard stare, but she doesn’t budge an inch. Black-eye nods enthusiastically and I let him go. Emily continues to grace us with a look of effortless condescension – but unbeknownst to her, we’ve actually talked to our lovely Mother. And she had hardly sounded shackled – or particularly interested in being freed.

“And when you say ‘The Mother’…,” I ask leadingly, paired with enormous finger quotes. Her eyes narrow slightly in acknowledgement, as if a beetle had successfully managed to flip itself off its back.

“We mean The Mother, in her truest and purest form.”

“That’s funny. She didn’t sound particularly in need of saving last time we talked to her.” She doesn’t make any indication of taking that seriously – but I wouldn’t either. “Drop the cult stuff. What do you actually mean?” Emily stays silent for a moment, before she sighs softly and nods.

“The Mother that you would know is in truth, two different things,” she says. Emmet perks up as he heals Poisoned. “There is a vessel, which contains the tremendous power derived from the faith of thousands. And then there is the entity which presides over that power. Lord Sable seeks to seize the vessel and create a new Mother.”

Poisoned nods blearily along, but Black-eye falters a little – still nodding, but looking a little unsure. I guess the specifics haven’t quite been filtered down to the rank-and-file.

“By The Mother, She was telling the truth,” Emmet mutters, and I’m forced to agree with the sentiment. If Sable is even remotely sure of his chances of making that work – and not completely insane – then he’s fucking about with some unbelievably potent magic.

“Then how do we fit into this?” Evelyn asks. “Why keep summoning people from Earth?”

“You have seen your strange abilities, yes?” Emily asks, and Evelyn nods. “It seems that, upon crossing from a world devoid of magic, to one that is saturated, an outrealmer gains power. Lord Sable has been ordering the summoning’s – though I don’t know to what end. Just that he has been particularly interested with the power manifested by your friend.” She nods at Abbey.

“So, it’s just a bloody lucky-dip for him?” Evelyn asks, aghast. “Where is he? Can you take us to him?”

Emily’s eyes sharpen for a second and she leans forward. “It would be my pleasure to lead you to an audience with his lordship,” she says evenly. “I only ask that you let my compatriots free.”

“Nice try,” I say. “They’ll just warn them that we’re coming – or get us when our backs are turned.”

“Then will you kill them?” She calls my bluff, unblinking. I scowl at her and she deigns to let a soft smile slip by.

“How about we just tie those two up by the road and leave them?” Evelyn suggests. It’s a fine enough idea, but it’d be too easy for someone to just pass by and untie them. We need something that’ll buy us some time.

My gaze wanders to the twisted roots at our feet and it gives me an idea.

“Spongify.” The gnarled roots of a distinguished fig tree sag as my magic does more damage than a hundred years of life. Evelyn passes me her sword and I begin scooping soil until a person-sized furrow appears behind the root noodles.

“Alright, lie down,” I direct Black-eye, while Emmet levers Poisoned down in the hole. Black-eye rolls into the groove and I begin bending the roots back into place.

“Hey, wait,” he splutters through a mouthful of dirt. “Please don’t leave me like this – I’m not good with small spaces.”

Rule one of being in a hostage situation is to not give your kidnapper a numbered list of your phobias. He probably realises that as I begin moulding the bark directly in front of his face.

“Wait, please! Just leave my face free, I’m begging you,” he blubbers as I bend the roots back into position. I can feel Emmet and Evelyn scowls digging into the back of my head and I sigh. I;m just messing with him – the point is that they can call for help anyway. I peel away a root and meet his watery eye with a toothy grin.

“How about that lightning? How do you do it?”

“Lightning?” I see the twinge in his eye heralding the revulsion that any good mage has at sharing their magic. “That could take days to teach!”

“Just the basics,” I say as he squirms. “Oh, well, I guess I’ll just have to pick it up somewhere else.” I begin lowering the root again, and he cracks.

“Alright, alright,” he heaves a breath as I jerk back the bark. He dithers a little, possibly trying to remember how he was taught it. “The main thing is getting a spark, then its just building the power.” I nod seriously and free his face completely. “Form a package of mana and pull the ends apart until it splits – that’ll get you a spark.”

I begin concentrating mana between my index finger and thumb, focusing until they grow warm and sweaty. Slowly, I pull them apart and the mana snaps in half, dissipating into the air. I grit my teeth in annoyance and try again.

“Ah, it helps for beginners if you start with two hands,” Black-eye pipes up, eyes darting between my scowl and the lack of lightning between my fingers.

“Quiet,” I bite out. Who’s he calling a beginner? I press my index fingers together regardless and try again. It works a little better this time. A blob of mana stretches slightly between my hands before popping.

“Maybe think about it like pulling taffy,” Black-eye coaches helpfully. I shoot him an irritated scowl and he shuts up. What is it with everyone and food metaphors?

The magic builds up between my fingers and I slowly pull them apart. I mentally grasp the ends and stretch until the pale blue glow strains like taught elastic. Suddenly, the charge builds up just enough and it bursts apart in a purple spark. It buzzes across my fingernails before fizzling out. The warmth of success fills me up, banishing the cold sweat that had begun to collect on the back of my neck.

“That’s the way, yeah,” Black-eye exclaims, like a proud teacher. “Just keep working on that and build it up into lightning.”

With every fibre of my being, I want to cover his stupid face and forget about him, but I hold myself back. I loosen the roots a little, then let them solidify around the two cultists like a living cage. It’ll take at least an hour to get them out now – and that’s with the right equipment too. Lots of time for us to scarper.

“Was that really necessary, Lucien?” Evelyn asks with a judgmental arch to her eyebrow.

“Yes, absolutely,” I conjure a spark and jab her in the side. She yelps and I duck out of the way before she can hit me back. “Alright lady, here’s what’s going to happen,” I say to Emily. “We’ve got some business with your boss, and you’re going to lead us to him. Understand?”

“Yes, that is agreeable,” she says as if I’d offered to take her on an afternoon stroll, and gestures down the road. I stare at her in bewilderment, waiting for the punchline, but Emmet just falls into place and starts walking down the road as directed. Shouldn’t she be leading us? Are we not holding her hostage?

Abbey walks up and shoves Emily forward. Showcasing a rare degree of common sense for this group. Either way, we fall in line and start wandering down the road, very soon losing sight of the two unfortunate cultists trapped behind their arboreal bars.

“How about you tell us where we’re going first,” Abbey says, prodding Emily in the back. We don’t stop moving, but Emily nods politely. Emmet helpfully fishes the map out of my satchel and unravels it for her, but she shakes her head.

“His lordship is careful to not let his followers know the exact location of his residence.” In a vacuum, I’d call her tone ‘regretful’, but she doesn’t even make the slightest effort to shift her expression a notch north of bored.

I grab Evelyn’s sword and slowly unwrap it. I briefly consider conjuring a firebolt, but she’s probably just as good a mage as her goons, and I’d just embarrass myself. The sword glints dramatically and she even manages to muster the investment to flinch.

“Then how are you aiming to lead us?” I ask and Abbey helpfully cracks her knuckles. Why didn’t we find her sooner – she’s great at this.

“I only know how to reach it relative to a select few locations,” she says. “One of which is there,” she points out a town a little way down this road – which is definitely nice and convenient.

“Well, if we don’t turn up in that town in an hour or so, there’ll be consequences,” I grit out, but she just ignores me and continues walking. I hand the sword back to Evelyn, feeling a little put out, and follow her in spiteful silence.

“About what you were saying about The Mother,” Emmet pipes up. “Her two aspects – could you tell us more?”

Emily regards him for a cool moment, then reflexively glances back in the direction of her stooges. From their reactions to her earlier words, I’d hazard that this kind of info is generally withheld from the rank and file. I guess the upside is that we’ve managed to snag at least a middle-manager level acolyte.

“It is not surprising that you don’t know,” Emily starts. “While it is not far outside of memory, much has been done to obfuscate history. Do you know when the church of The Mother was established?”

“Of course,” Emmet obviously responds. “It dates back generations. The Mother is ancient, as is every God.” He ducks down after his reflexive response and Emily smiles with a sardonic tilt.

“A Mother has been worshiped for generations – that is true.” Emmet furrows his brow, and the rest of us do too. “The church of The Mother, as you know it, has existed only thirty years.” The packed gravel crunches underneath us as we walk, our attention fixed on her as she speaks. “Thirty years ago, the Empire hungered for expansion, and the Northern city states presented an enticing target – riven by war and rivalry as they are. Caithurt simply needed an edge – one that would cement her grip over her lands, and further weaken the frail northern alliance.”

“What? So they invented a god?” I ask, I’ll admit, slightly lost.

“Of course not, that’s impossible,” she says. “But they did the next best thing. You see, there exist innumerable gods in the world, each vying for a morsel of mortal devotion. A god’s strength is derived from the faith of their followers, and there are only so many followers, and so many gods. But Caithurt needed a powerful god to drive her army’s healing and unite the nation.”

Emily pauses momentarily to watch Emmet’s expression, a cruel twist staining her otherwise placid expression. Emmet stays quiet, whatever turmoil her words create staying inside him for the time being.

“Caithurt brought together the disparate priests from all corners of the empire. Each of them contacted their patrons, introduced her plans, and united their interests. One by one, these minor gods – starving for power – came together under Caithurt’s direction and became one.”

“What?” I ask as she pauses dramatically – probably for exactly this purpose. “What does that mean?”

“The Mother came into being as a hundred minor gods united into one entity,” she answers, and the thousand faces of that nightmare rears up behind my eyes. “A hundred churches united; a hundred gods became one. They concentrated their power and will under a single banner and magnified their reach a hundred-fold.” She turns to Emmet, her voice gaining more and more energy with each word. “Have you never questioned why your powers so far exceed that of another’s religion?”

Emmet opens his mouth, but can’t manage a word. Emily’s lip curls in distant disgust and keeps pressing on without mercy.

“One of their number donated their iconography; another, their symbol. Artists were commissioned to construct an affable image, and scribes were conscripted to design scripture. Everything was cut from whole cloth to appeal to the masses, and maximise the power of The Mother, and The Empire.”

Evelyn, Abbey and I stay silent as she says all of this. It’s not exactly personal to us – that thing that tried to kill you was an artificial conglomerate all along is hardly going to make me think less of it. Emmet though, the betrayal is still fresh. Every one of Emily’s words strikes him physically.

“In every town, the décor was simply replaced, a new statue, and that was all they needed. The peasants sent their prayers to their old gods in a new church, their children were simply taught a new name. In only thirty years, The Mother now presides over an unimaginable wealth of power, and Caithurt only profits.”

Birds chirp above us as the sun beams through the trees. We keep walking as Emily drones on in the pleasant midday heat.

“That’s what his lordship seeks. The will of the people has been stolen by the empire; siphoned off to an undeserving authority. We will take the source of their power and give it to another – one who will stand against Caithurt and represent the people.” Her expression cracks, and raw fervour pulses underneath.

“And Sable becomes the archbishop or something, no doubt,” I cut in, shooting a slightly worried glance towards a very pale Emmet. “And you can stop talking now – another word and we’ll make it your last.” She scoffs at the admittedly weak threat, but falls silent, breathing heavily and beginning to regain her composure.

Emmet, however, isn’t.

“Hey, c’mon Emmet, she’s literally a cultist – who knows if what she said was true,” Evelyn says, patting him on the shoulder. Emmet makes a weird gurgling sound.

“No – it’s all true. It must be. That’s why they could never agree on what the symbols should look like,” he mumbles as we keep trudging along. “By The Mother, what have I been doing all my life?”

I awkwardly reach out towards him as he begins to spiral back into the pit from yesterday. He twists away, shucking Evelyn off and putting some distance between us. Evelyn and I share an uneasy look, but the fact that his religion is just a manufactured state apparatus is something a little too much for simple platitudes.

Emily’s lips twist into a cruel smile and I shove her forwards. Her foot catches on her robes and she almost trips over. She glances back, her callous expression finally riven by a line of anger – all of which cheers me up immensely. She rights herself and we continue walking down the road in silence.

The trees begin to thin out as we walk on, and the furrows of cart tracks begin to trace the road. The hoof prints and wheel tracks transition to a mass of footprints, then to a sea of churned mud, and finally to a migratory herd of traders and merchants. We come to a stop at the tail of a line of oxen and overflowing carts as they filter into the distance town gates. Emmet bumps into Abbey and starts, looking completely out of it.

“So, this is the place?” I ask Emily. She nods, but makes no move to elaborate. “Then where to now?”

“We must first enter through the gates,” she says, taking a step and moving up the line. “If you must know, we then head out through the east gate.”

“Then we can just walk around the wall,” I grit out.

“We must do this in order – there is now other way.”

“I don’t think you understand your position here. If you don’t stop jerking us around-”

“You’ll what?” She asks, a mocking smile ghosting across her face.

I grab her by the robe a fire flares around my fingers. I bring it up to her face and Evelyn gasps, but doesn’t stop me. Emily just watches – unimpressed, even as her eye waters in the heat. We stand there for a long second – then she smirks and I push her away, biting back a frustrated scream.

“Whatever,” I huff, trying to get rid of the tension in my chest. The line shifts another inch and we flow with it. “This line better hurry up. Last time we hung around city gates too long, I got blackjacked in the head.” Evelyn snorts behind me.

It’s all very funny until the glint of polished steel flashes in my periphery. I instinctively duck behind a donkey and it’s probably what saves us as an imperial knight glances over. The embossed tin can must see something though, and calls over his shoulder. Moments later, there’s an entire platoon of the bastards, picking through some merchant’s cart.

“Evelyn, hand me that hat,” I hiss, waving my arm, desperately trying to corral my stupid party into a veneer of discretion. The stupid skirt-hat lands on my head and I risk peeking over the donkey’s ass.

A bunch of knights are digging through the cart, carefully inspecting the fruit within for contraband, and pocketing anything that looks even remotely appetising. The merchant – sweating profusely – is stuck halfway between begging for forgiveness and thanking the knight’s swift intervention. ‘How did that get in there?’ ‘This has never happened before officer,’ and the like.

The guard captain seems mostly embarrassed by everything – he’s even trying to refuse the bribe that the merchant has automatically tried pressing into his hands. I drop back down and turn to the others.

“Alright, stay low, we’ll go around.” Everyone nods. Except Emily. She stands up and shouts.

“The Empire’s senseless lust for wealth and power has stripped its people of their freedoms and agency. We toil for cruel masters and receive nothing in return but spit and the crushing boot. Its foul tendrils creep ever outward in a sick spiral of conquest without meaningful motive, or rational conclusion. We have no hope for a future except to cut off the rot that festers within the very structure of society. We must spur the whip and-,” is as far as she gets, before I tackle her to the ground.

I look up, foolishly hoping for mercy, but the steel toed boot in front of me presses down with the grim weight of reality. I follow it up and meet the eyes of the captain, looking down at us with a pained grimace.

“You said the quiet bit out loud,” he mutters with a pained – adjacent to fatherly – smile.

“And the Empress is a whore,” Emily spits through my fingers. The knight sighs and holds out a hand to receive a stack of papers.

He flips through them, then peers at each of our faces. He waves a hand and one of his goons rips the hat off of me.

“Ah, you’re those ones,” he finally says, and flips over my wanted poster. “I guess we have to take them back to Coltis.”

Before I know it, we’re trussed up and thrown into the back of a wagon. Emily just sits there, not a shred of remorse – not even satisfaction – on her face. A knight stomps over with a burlap sack. And the last thing I see before he shoves it over her head is a ghost of a smirk.

Another knight rolls me over, sack in hand. I’m momentarily face to face with the others. Emmet looks lost in malaise; Abbey gets punched for biting someone, and Evelyn is giving Emily a curious look.

“Hang on, that was pretty based,” she whispers and then a bag gets thrust over my head.