That night, James Levi woke up. He didn’t speak—he hummed , a frequency that rattled their ship’s core. Corbin reached for his sidearm. Fisher put a hand on his arm.
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Corbin Fisher stood on the cracked balcony of the Guildhall, the wind tugging at his dark hair. A former cartographer turned mercenary, he’d spent his life mapping uncharted territories for the highest bidder. Yet something in his chest tightened as the messenger pigeon landed on his shoulder, unfurling a weather‑worn scroll. That night, James Levi woke up