Noah stumbled out of the collapse of space with a faint ripple in the air, his boots crunching against grit.

He steadied himself, breathing in the heavy air of the capital.

The scent of smoke, horses, and fried bread carried down the narrow alley he stood in.

He tugged his coat straight, dusting at the hem before walking towards the sliver of light ahead.

The capital unfurled before him.

Wide avenues lined with high stone buildings.

Merchants hawking their wares from stalls. Beggars calling for alms in the gutters.

Children playing by roadsides, laughing as though the world wasn't rotten at its core.

Noah blended with the flow of people, his eyes cool and calculating as he took in every face.

He had no true destination, only the urge to walk where memory tugged.

And memory led him to the courtyard. The courtyard he'd heard so much about.

It was bustling now, filled with merchants, guards keeping a lazy watch, and the constant chatter of trade.

At first glance, nothing seemed unusual.

The cobblestones beneath his feet were fresh, their pale surface bright in the sun. The cracks, the dried blood, and the marks of fire were all gone. Erased.

But Noah knew.

He stood at the center, where Juniper had fallen.

His hand slipped into his pocket, gripping the fabric of his coat tightly.

He said nothing, only stared at the spot. A moment of silence for her. For what had been stolen.

"Ah, young man."

Noah blinked, his eyes sliding to the side.

A merchant with a greying beard stood by a cart loaded with bolts of cloth, watching him with shrewd eyes.

"You're staring, eh? You must've heard. This is where it happened." The merchant leaned on his cart, lowering his voice like he was telling a story forbidden to share too loudly.

"The girl, Juniper Rowe. Killed by some dark sorcery. Burned half the courtyard. Folk say she was cursed. Others say demons."

Noah said nothing.

The merchant chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, whatever the truth, it brought fortune to us sellers, eh?"

"People come to gawk, to lay flowers, to whisper their prayers. And while they're here, they buy." He patted his clothes. "See? Even tragedy feeds business."

His grin widened, teeth yellow in the afternoon sun. "So, how about it, young sir? Fine cloth for a fine price. Honor the dead by buying from the living, eh?"

Noah's gaze lingered on him for a moment, expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away.

The merchant's hopeful grin disappeared, but he shrugged and called out to the next passerby, voice bright once more.

Noah's boots clicked against the cobblestones as he walked.

His hands stayed buried in his pockets, shoulders hunched, eyes fixed ahead.

Juniper had been talkative that day, laughing, teasing him about how serious he looked.

She'd told him her whole itinerary as if he were her personal scribe. Shopping first, then meeting her friends, then stopping by the colosseum.

Noah clenched his jaw.

If he was going to find out who killed her, or who used her, then he would retrace her every step. No matter how much time had passed.

The city opened up before him, the narrow streets spilling into broad avenues.

Vendors shouted from either side, their voices rising above the creak of wagons and the shouts of the messenger boys.

The smell of roasted meat clashed with the stink of manure, and high above, banners bearing the crest of Camelot rippled in the wind.

Noah ignored it all.

He followed the path Juniper had taken, winding through the capital until the shadow of the colosseum fell across him.

He stopped, looking up.

It was massive, an oval giant of pale stone rising high into the sky.

Arched entrances gaped like open maws, swallowing the eager streams of people that poured in from every side.

Carved statues of champions lined the exterior walls, their weathered faces staring down in silent triumph.

Noah tilted his head back, eyes tracing the structure.

The place hummed with noise. Cheering, laughter, vendors selling tickets at wooden booths, the jingling of coin pouches.

Had her killer been here?

Had they seen her laughing among the crowd, pointing out the fighters with that spark in her golden eyes?

The thought gnawed at him.

He let his gaze sweep across the flow of people.

Noblemen in fine cloaks. Soldiers off duty. Peasants clutching their tickets like they held gold.

All walking in, all ready to lose themselves in bloodsport.

If she had really been taken here, then this place might hold the first thread he could pull.

Noah exhaled slowly, fists curling at his sides.

Without another thought, he joined the tide of bodies moving toward the booths. He would go in.

And maybe, just maybe, he'd see what Juniper had seen on her last day alive.

The line shuffled forward steadily, faster than he expected.

Two men ahead of him laughed as they stepped closer to the booth.

"Lucky we came early," one said, adjusting the strap of his satchel. "Weekday crowds are thin, but the weekend? Forget it."

"Yeah," his friend grunted, wiping sweat from his brow. "Those nobles and fat merchants snap up every ticket before it even hits the stalls. Leave scraps for the rest of us. Can't even afford to take my son next time."

"Tell me about it. You practically have to know a broker just to get in."

Noah listened in silence, his eyes narrowing faintly.

Juniper had told him she'd gone to see the fights that day. But how had she gotten her ticket? Through someone she knew? A broker? Or had she simply bought it like anyone else?

He rolled the thought over in his mind. If someone had sold her the ticket, then maybe that was the first thread he needed to pull.

Someone had seen her. Someone had noted her face. That was worth following up.

The line kept thinning. Feet scuffed forward, the murmur of voices rising with impatience.

Finally, Noah stepped up to the booth.

The vendor inside was a middle-aged man with high cheekbones and a calculating stare.

His hands were stained with ink from tallying ledgers, but his gaze flicked instantly to Noah's clothes.

The man's eyes narrowed.

"You," he said slowly, suspicion dripping into his tone. "You're an academy student, aren't you?"

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