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even this tiny corner of the world from slipping into ruin had demanded it. Time had done the rest, just as surely as it had ravaged his body. He was a sprightly teenager no longer. Weathered by years of hardship, his cheeks now hung lank upon his skull, and his hair sprang from his head in a heavy thatch, heedless of brush or scissors.
    He’d never been one for complaining about the ageing process—there hadn’t been time to slow down, not for a single waking moment—but right now, surrounded by wilting plants and half-starved critters, he felt old.
    Before he could dwell on it, he forced his gaze towards the city—his city—and searched for the returnees. As the snuffling grew closer, the smallest of smiles played upon his lips, but was quickly replaced by a frown. Tonight, away from the city lights, he felt unnerved.
    The feather clutched in his hands had driven him here. Wreathed in shadow, its delicate edges curled and parted at his fingers’ touch. He had been holding onto it all day, and whenever he became aware of holding it, a thousand emotions reared up in his chest, the most prominent being acute disbelief. The gut reaction was so strong that he found himself suspecting it had a lot to do with the unsettled rumblings in his stomach.
    But he knew better than that. The rumblings were down to hunger, pure and simple.
    The smell of a cooking meal was dancing across the water, making his stomach ache with longing. They had sent parties out foraging for scraps in all directions during the months of hardship, and Alex was sure that many had suffered due to their pilfering, but they had felt the effects of the famine nonetheless. Even the meals he had eaten lately had been sparse at best. Now that the last of their stores were truly depleted, they were all fast becoming undernourished.
    The snuffling continued to grow closer, but the scavenging party would be hidden by the narrow, winding streets until they were right on top of him. Eventually, he could hear the telltale clip-clop of hooves emanating from somewhere nearby.
    They appeared a short time later. He recognised Norman instantly: the slightest of the three shadows, tall and lithe, with an angular jaw and an unruly crop of black hair. Beyond, he glimpsed a flash of silver, and knew that Lucian was close behind. The last figure resolved into a young woman he vaguely recognised, one of the newer arrivals from a few years before. He tried to remember her name, and settled on Abbie, but that didn’t sit right.
    Norman paused momentarily as they rounded the corner, but his surprised expression was replaced by brief warmth, which itself then sank towards an even, polite smile—the one Alex knew, and had always known, hid a distant resentment. In turn, Lucian simply nodded, while the young woman —Allie , that was her name—gave one of the respectful bows he hated so much.
    “Evening,” Lucian said. He looked towards the illuminated oasis across the river and then back to Alex, as though questioning his presence. He then turned his head a fraction, enough to reveal his furrowed brows, but not enough to catch the attention of Norman or Allison.
    Alex shook his head minutely, and Lucian turned away, accepting the message.
    The four of them began to move along the street, towards the distant lights.
    “You’re leaving the boat?” Allie asked.
    “I’ll get it in the morning,” Alex answered. “My arms hurt from all the rowing.”
    In truth, he felt the unbearable need to accompany them. Despite the lazy atmosphere of the riverside, even the short distance between them and the stables now seemed fraught with unseen dangers. It wasn’t safe, not tonight, even within the confines of the city.
    He felt their eyes on the nape of his neck, and so made a concentrated effort to keep his voice casual. “How was it?”
    There was a brief pause, during which the hoot of a lone owl floated towards them from the spires of the cathedral.
    “It went fine,” Norman