Einjaar looked the same.
That was the first thing — the buildings intact, the walls unchipped, the paveway solid underfoot. No siege marks. No scorch patterns on the stone. No structural evidence of the attack that had summoned them here.
But the air was wrong.
The city moved like a man walking with a blade at his back — every step deliberate, every motion small, the specific economy of people who had learned that drawing attention cost something they couldn't afford. Conversations happened at half volume. Eyes moved to check what was behind them before they finished looking at what was ahead. Someone dropped a crate near the market stalls and three people flinched before the sound finished echoing.
Einjaar wasn't under attack.
Einjaar was under something else.
---
The carriage stopped behind a stand of trees far enough from the gate that the guards couldn't see it from their position. The party climbed down. Stood in the specific quiet of a road.
