The city streets were dark. So dark that the flames in the distance didn’t make sense. Kyra could almost pretend that it was a mistake, but as they rode farther in, past quiet houses and darkened storefronts, they heard screams and smelled smoke. They began to see people. First a few, and then more and more ran toward them, fleeing the inner city. Soon, the roads were too clogged for the cart, and they continued on foot, working their way upstream. With so many people around, Kyra couldn’t see anything beyond what was right in front of her. All she could do was follow blindly in Tristam’s wake, dodge the onslaught of people, and hope the tall knight had a better view.

Tristam turned and grabbed Kyra by the shoulders. “The fire’s in the southwest district,” he shouted.

Kyra stared at him in horror. “The Drunken Dog!”

The smoke grew thicker as they ran, burning Kyra’s eyes and coating her throat. She almost crashed into a soot-covered man supporting a hobbling woman. Nearby, a young girl stopped and doubled over, coughing uncontrollably. Palace soldiers appeared in the mix, shouting as they attempted to control a crowd that only half saw them. Kyra desperately scanned faces as she ran but recognized no one.

Kyra heard a roar behind her and spun around. A demon cat backed a terrified woman and child against a wall. The cat crouched low, tail waving in the air. A guard jumped in front of them, spear ready. The cat slashed at the guard, and he jumped aside just in time. Tristam put a hand to his sword. Kyra stopped as well, torn between helping him and finding her family. Tristam looked at her, and she knew that he’d read her thoughts, just as she knew he was trying to decide if he could trust her in the city alone. For a split second, he hesitated.

“Go check on the inn,” he said, turning his eyes to the creature. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He drew his blade and shouted a challenge. The demon cat coiled around to engage him. As Tristam and the guard faced the animal, Kyra forced herself to turn away. With no weapons, she was no help to them, and she needed to get home.

Without Tristam to clear a path for her, the crowds paid Kyra no heed. She fought her way through, collecting bruises and bumps as she jostled her way upstream toward the fire. One man barreled straight into her. He would have knocked her off her feet if she hadn’t fallen into another man, who swore at her to watch where she was going. Kyra pushed on, consumed by her need to get home. Maybe it was just a coincidence that The Drunken Dog was at the heart of the fire. Maybe.