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The Veil knew where we had been.

It knew I had refused.

And now it knew the threat alone had not been enough.

Good.

Let them learn something too.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Talia

By the time the dust storm reached us, we had already changed routes twice.

Veyr called that caution. I called it walking too far after sleeping approximately none.

The transport we had taken from the compromised rental had carried us three districts west before Veyr decided remaining on it any longer created a predictable trail. We got off near the edge of an industrial service corridor and continued on foot toward whatever temporary hiding place he had decided was least likely to get us killed next.

He had not told me what it was. I had stopped asking. For now.

The sky had been turning darker for the past ten minutes, not evening-dark but the strange copper-gray Zuna got before heavy dust rolled in from beyond the developed sectors. Wind pushed grit along the pavement in thin streams around our boots.

I pulled my jacket higher over my mouth. “Please tell me this planet has weather forecasts.”

Veyr glanced toward the horizon. “It does.”

“And did you check one?”

“No.”

I stared at him. “That feels like a surprisingly normal mistake.”

His expression tightened. “Do not enjoy it.”

“Too late.”

The first real gust hit hard enough to turn the air brown.

I lifted an arm over my eyes. “How far?”

“Eight minutes.”

“Your eight minutes or actual eight minutes?”

“Move.”

That answered that.

We crossed into a narrower service lane between two storage structures as the storm thickened. The wind screamed through the gap, carrying dust fine enough to get beneath my collar and into my teeth.

Visibility dropped from a block to maybe thirty feet. Then fifteen.

Veyr slowed. Not stopped. Slowed.

That was worse.

His hand went to the weapon beneath his coat.