Chapter 27 · The Old Order's Still Breathing

The silver hook came through the tent flap before the man did.

Kael rolled off his bedroll, hand already reaching for the rebar he kept under the canvas. The hook glinted in the firelight outside. Witch-hunter mark. He knew that curve.

"Fighter Eight." The voice was smooth, bored. "Got a minute?"

Kael stayed low. His ribs still ached from yesterday's fight. "Pit's closed. Come back when Shana rings the bell."

"Not here for a show." The man stepped in. Tall, thin, wearing the grey dust-coat they all wore. Federal hunter's badge on his collar, the kind that meant he could walk into any camp and walk out with whoever he wanted. "Here about the Dustborn kid. Alto."

Kael's hand tightened on the rebar. "What about him."

"Word is he's been hearing things. Seeing things." The hunter crouched, easy and loose, like he had all night. "Sand talks to him. That's what the others say."

"Others talk a lot of shit."

"Sure. But the lamp back there? Lamp Eight?" The hunter smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "Somebody pulled files. Old files. Kill orders from six years back.