The lead night watcher stepped forward, his silver-trimmed uniform glinting like scattered stars under the moonlight. His weathered face bore the scars of countless midnight encounters, and his nostrils flared wide as he inhaled deeply—something about
Blazar's scent crawled under his skin like an itch he couldn't scratch. It was all wrong, foreign, laced with something that made his instincts scream danger.
"You're not one of us," he growled, his voice rough as gravel scraped against stone. His hand found the familiar weight of his blade's hilt, fingers wrapping around the worn leather grip with muscle memory born of survival.
The other guards behind him shifted restlessly, their own hands moving to their weapons as tension crackled through the air like electricity before a storm. "Why are you in a guard's uniform?"
Blazar's heart hammered against her ribs, each beat thunderous in her ears as she searched desperately for an excuse, a lie.
