Page 64 of Bound to the Marak

Noise.It struck him like a blow—sound in every pitch, every direction. Honking, shouting, rhythmic thuds, erratic buzzing. The city was a cacophony of creatures too used to chaos to care about it.

The air stung his lungs. Not from poison, though it smelled like low-grade combustion, rust, grease. No, it was thelifein it that stung. Vibrant and unpredictable.

Shepherd’s Bush, she called it. The name meant nothing. Just a crude combination of sounds. But Leonie had whispered it with reverence.

Buildings rose too close together. Electric signs flickered in garish colors. The roads shimmered with water and oil, smeared by moving boxes with light eyes—vehicles. Small humans hurried along the paths, bundled in thick coats, emitting vapor from their mouths in the chill. Nothing seemed structured. It was a miracle they didn’t collapse under the weight of their disorganization.

Karian narrowed his eyes as they walked, both cloaked in simulated human skins. He bore the guise of a tall man with close-cropped hair and severe features, wrapped in dark fabric shaped like what his analysts called a “coat.” Leonie had insisted it looked fashionable. He felt like he was wrapped in the pelt of a prey animal.

She, on the other hand… looked radiant in her long woven black dress and chestnut coat, hair pulled back, cheeks flushed from the cold.

This was her habitat. And she had adapted to it like water to its bowl.

The streets led to a narrow building with rusted railings. Concrete stairs, choked with soggy leaves, led up to a dull green door.

She stopped in front of it, hesitating. Her breath hitched.

“No key,” she murmured. “I didn’t think to bring it…”

He watched her fumble at the handle, her fingers trembling. The lock held fast.

Her face twisted with frustration—an expression he was growing too used to seeing on her, and one he wanted to erase. He stepped forward, raising one hand to the lock.

A slight flick of his fingers. A nudge of power.

The mechanism within clicked and yielded.

She gasped. “Wait, did you just…?”

He gave a slight tilt of his head. “A minor application of will. A lock like this poses no challenge.”

She blinked. “That’s cheating.”

“Efficiency,” he corrected her. “Primitive security does not deserve reverence.”

They entered the dwelling.

The air inside was close and stale, still heavy with the ghost of her scent—faint floral traces, skin-warmed fabrics, something sweet he could never name. Her home. Or what had once been.

It was so small.Cramped.

There were objects everywhere—random shapes and mismatched forms. Nothing uniform. Nothing streamlined. A squat table sat beneath a window. Shelves overflowed with bent spines of what he knew were “books,” the primitive storage form for information. Colorful glass objects sat uselessly on ledges. There were pillows on the floor. A dish on the ground.

The floor creaked beneath his steps. He scanned the apartment, noting everything. The dust. The scent of time. The…personalityof it.

This was not a dwelling built for survival.

It was built for memory.

He paused near a round glass orb resting on a cluttered shelf. Inside it, tiny artificial structures sat in a landscape of pale grains—white flakes frozen mid-suspension. He turned it in his hand. The grains fluttered like miniature snowstorms. Pointless. Beautiful.

He tilted his head.

A city, he realized slowly. A tiny one, under crystal. Perhaps a totem?

He did not know why it made him feel something he could not name.

“Gone,” Leonie muttered from another room. Her voice sounded strained. “My computer’s gone. The police must’ve taken it. Or someone broke in…”

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