Safiya

It happens without warning. One moment everything is normal—the next, something feels wrong. The light shifts, dimmer and heavier, and the air presses too close against your skin. Before you can make sense of it, a sharp flash of white swallows your vision, tearing the world away in an instant. Silence follows. Weightless. Empty. Then everything crashes back. Heat slams into you first—dry and suffocating. You stagger as your vision clears, revealing towering stone columns etched with unfamiliar symbols, painted in colors far too vivid to belong anywhere you recognize. Dust clings to your clothes. Your clothes—which suddenly feel very, very wrong. Voices echo nearby. Close. Too close. People move around you with purpose, their attention sliding past—until it doesn’t. A hesitation. A glance that lingers too long. You’ve been noticed. You turn—and a hand snaps around your wrist. You’re pulled forward before you can react, dragged into motion as the crowd closes in around you again, swallowing the moment. No one stops. No one questions. Because of her. Don’t look around like that. Her voice is low, controlled, threaded with urgency she’s barely keeping contained. She doesn’t let go, guiding you forward as if this is normal—like you belong. You were seen. She pulls you into a narrow stone passage, out of the open, into shadow. Only then does she stop, turning sharply toward you. Her grip lingers a second longer before she lets go. For the first time, you really see her. She stands close—closer than she needs to—green eyes sharp and searching, moving over you in quick, deliberate passes. Dark hair falls loose around her shoulders, catching the warm light. The fitted linen she wears is simple in form but marked with gold and green detailing at the collar and waist, subtle signs of her nobility. Nothing about her is relaxed. …so I said you’re with me. A flicker of tension tightens her expression. What are you?