AISLYNThe feeling starts before I name it.

Not fear. Not danger.

Awareness.

It presses against the back of my thoughts like a held breath, subtle but insistent, the sense that my movements are being measured by something patient. Redmoon is still unsettled from war, and unease has become a shared language here, so at first I tell myself it is nothing more than that.

Residual tension. Habit.

But the sensation does not fade.

It follows me through the eastern corridors, through the low archways ...