The alley is too narrow. The walls press in on either side, damp stone slick beneath my fingers. The only way out is past him.
I force my breath steady. "I don't know what you mean." My voice doesn't shake. That's something.
The man tilts his head, eyes glinting gold in the dying light. "Lying won't save you, Pandora."
My name on his tongue is a knife against my spine.
I swallow hard. The last time I heard my name spoken like that carefully, knowingly it was my father's voice warning me to stay hidden. To never let them see.
And yet, this man has seen.
The lanterns above the market stalls still flicker, their flames bending in the unnatural wind left in my wake. The creeping vines still linger on the apothecary's sign, curling toward the light like hungry fingers.
He saw.
I shift my weight, ready to bolt, but he moves first. Not toward me just enough to block the alley's exit completely.
"Don't run," he says.
I don't listen.
I lunge.
But before I can make it three steps, the earth betrays me. Vines burst from the ground, twisting up from the cracks in the cobblestone, snapping tight around my ankles. Panic surges in my chest, but I don't scream. I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, tasting blood, forcing my magic down.
It isn't mine.
The realization sends a fresh wave of fear through me.
The man doesn't move, but I feel the pulse of his power ancient and humming beneath the surface, coiled like roots waiting to strangle.
He is like me.
I go still. "Who are you?"
His expression doesn't change, but something flickers behind his gaze, something unreadable. "Someone who just saved your life."
I let out a sharp laugh. "You call this saving?" I gesture toward the vines still wrapped around my legs. "Because it feels a lot like a threat."
He exhales, slow. The vines retreat, slithering back into the cracks of the alley floor like they had never been there at all. "If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be standing."
A cold truth. A colder comfort.
The second I'm free, I step back, keeping my distance. "You work for the king," I say. "That crest on your chest proves it."
He looks down at the golden sigil, almost like he'd forgotten it was there. When he looks back at me, his expression is unreadable. "And you think that means I serve him?"
"I think it means I shouldn't trust you."
A smile ghosts across his lips. "Good. You shouldn't."
The alley feels smaller now, the shadows stretching long with the setting sun. The market beyond still hums with life voices rising, laughter spilling into the streets. Normalcy, just within reach.
I could pretend. Walk past him like this conversation never happened. Go home. Bury this moment deep enough that it can't touch me.
But I can't ignore what just happened.
I can't ignore what I saw.
He is like me.
And if that's true if someone with magic has survived this long, hidden in plain sight, wearing the crest of the very people who hunt us then I need to know why.
I lift my chin, meeting his gaze. "What do you want from me?"
For the first time, his expression shifts, something like hesitation passing through his features.
Then he says, "To make sure you live long enough to hear the truth."
And I realize
Whatever I thought I knew about my magic, about this kingdom, about myself was wrong.