“There’s a desolate feel to the place.” Stacy’s pronouncement was accompanied by vague hand waving. I whirled to glare at Terrance. Not even one minute and she’d started in.

The day the ferries sank is marked by the dead, the desperate, and those awaiting damnation. I number among the awaiting.

The pen snicked loudly in the quiet room when laid on the highly polished table at the center of the hall. Gythe followed the movement, maintaining a neutral expression even as her heart thumped. The amnesty was signed. Relief eased the tension of standing interspersed with the Mothili soldiers.

Redava glowered at the pendant lying on the table reflecting the glint hanging above. She snorted tightening the grip on the handle of the saw while ignoring the growing pile of broken blades shoved to the back of the table.

Metal scrapped across wood as a tankard slide over the bar to Dekal. He guzzled the liquid, ignoring the smell and slammed it back against the table. “Another,” he rumbled with a crook of his finger. He slumped over the bar to wait, resting his head on his arm. He allowed his mind to go numb.

“Your player is running.”

I paused the tips of two fingers resting on top of a cold piece. I hadn’t moved it yet. Raising an eyebrow, I grinned lazily. Davon leaned back in his chair, far enough I could picture the front legs raising from the ground as he strained to look out the window.

The screen door creaked behind me, unexpected and unwelcome. Boots struck the stairs instantly, and I locked my gaze on the sudsy water. “Go away,” I whispered.