Florian's Pov;

Shitty port. Salty air. Fog rolled in from the sea, swallowing the dock in a grey haze.

Waves slapped against the hulls of anchored ships, dull and heavy.

Piercing moonlight provided a chilling glow.

“They’re here.” The false peace was interrupted by a dockworker—one of the Kryetar’s planted men.

Before his announcement, heavy thumps of booted feet crunched across the grime and stones.

I inclined my head to see Valon leading them toward the little shelter we sat under, ...