The eastern pier at dawn was a brutal place. It sat at the lowest edge of the island's foundation, accessible by a steep stone staircase cut directly through the bedrock. It smelled of freezing brine and the chemical sting of sky-leviathan fuel. The vessel Kaito had secured was moored at the far end. It was a massive, hulking thing built for function, its thick hull plating the dark iron color of surviving bad weather.
Ashe sat on a wooden cargo crate. Her arms were crossed tight. Her jaw was locked. She had been awake since before the carriage arrived, and the freezing hours had only sharpened the bitter set of her mouth.
Vane stood near the rusted pier railing. His travel bag sat by his boots. He took slow, carefully measured breaths. His fractured ribs ground together with every inhale, a persistent, bright fire he had been forcing down for the last hour.
Footsteps echoed down the stone stairs.
