Zephyr Riddle's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Zephyr spotted the tail three blocks back — a heavyset man in a dark coat who turned when Zephyr turned, stopped when Zephyr stopped. The granary was out of the question now. Leading anyone there would poison the one location he'd spent months scouting, the one place sturdy enough to hold his dream of a refuge for people the world had thrown away. He needed a second option, and fast. The windmill rose ahead, half-collapsed and vine-strangled, the kind of place most people crossed the street to avoid. Zephyr had stumbled across it weeks ago while mapping alternate routes through the lower district. The interior was dry, the upper floors still had boards that held weight, and the entrance was hidden behind a gnarled tree whose roots had swallowed the base of the structure. Nobody looked twice at a dying windmill wrapped in vines. Zephyr slipped around the tree, found the gap between trunk and stone foundation, and squeezed through. Inside, dust motes hung in beams of light cutting through gaps in the walls. He climbed the ladder to the second floor and crouched by a window. The man in the dark coat appeared a minute later, scanning the empty street. He circled the windmill once, kicked at some loose boards, then moved on. When the street stayed quiet, Zephyr pulled the rusted lantern from his pack and set it in the window. If Aldric Thornwood was really being watched — and if the man was half as sharp as his careful questions suggested — he'd spot the signal and know where to find shelter. Zephyr lit the wick and watched the flame catch. One person who might be ready. One step closer to making the refuge real instead of just a plan he carried alone.