The Hob smelled of smoke and sweat, a mixture of desperation and fleeting joy clinging to every corner. Sejanus stepped carefully through the throng of worn faces and ragged clothing, the glow of lanterns casting flickering shadows over the gathered crowd. The clang of tankards and the murmur of whispered deals filled the air, but his attention was drawn elsewhere—toward the small stage where the Covey performed.

Coriolanus stood beside him, eyes fixed on Lucy Gray, the singer whose voice floated like a rare light in the dimness. Sejanus tried to share his friend’s fascination, but instead, his gaze kept wandering past Lucy Gray—to another figure on the edge of the stage.

She was unlike anyone he had seen in the Capitol or the districts. Her hair was tangled, framing a face both fierce and fragile, lit with a wild kind of fire. She moved with a grace born of hardship, her fingers dancing over the strings of a battered guitar. The music she played was raw, rough-edged, but it held a strange beauty, like a secret the world wasn’t meant to know.

Sejanus felt an unfamiliar tug in his chest—a mix of curiosity and something more urgent, something he couldn’t name.

The crowd’s energy shifted suddenly. Shouts rose like a sudden storm as two men near the bar began to argue, their voices sharp and heated. The tension snapped, and before Sejanus could react, the dispute exploded into a brawl.

Hands grabbed, fists flew.

He glanced toward the girl, who froze for a moment, eyes wide with shock. Panic flashed across her features as the chaos surged closer.

Without hesitation, Sejanus pushed through the crowd, heart pounding as he reached for her arm. “Come with me. Now.”

Her surprise flickered into something like trust, and she let him guide her away from the center of the fight. The noise behind them was deafening—shouts, curses, the crash of overturned tables.

Once clear, he pulled her into the shadow of a nearby alley, where the sounds dimmed to a distant roar.

“Are you all right?” he asked, searching her face.