The sky was still stained with the fading blue of the fireworks when the first hollow crack rippled through the air. It wasn't a sound you heard with your ears; it was a vibration that settled deep in the marrow of your bones, like the mountain itself was shivering in its sleep.

  Grace felt Mable’s hand tighten in hers—a grip so hard it was almost painful. The laughter in the plaza didn't die all at once; it withered, one voice at a time, until the only sound left was the unnatural, high-pitched whistle of the wind coming from above.

  Then, the clouds bled steel.

  Sleek, glacial-plated shapes descended on pillars of blue-white flame. They weren't birds, and they weren't village transports. They were machines of war, draped in banners that whipped in a sudden, icy gust. Grace watched, paralyzed, as a robot slammed into the center of the fountain where they had sat just days ago. The stone shattered like porcelain.

  "Ace..." Mable’s voice was a thready whisper, her blue eyes wide and glazed with reflected fire.

  "Don't look," Grace commanded, her own voice sounding like it belonged to someone else. "Caleb, get up! We move—now!"

  They bolted. The Night Market, which had been a paradise of scents and lights minutes ago, was now a slaughterhouse of memories. Vendors abandoned their carts, and a sack of saffron burst open nearby, its yellow dust mixing with the sudden snow to create a sickly, golden slush. Grace dragged Mable through the crowd, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

  Behind them, the sound of a cider stall splintering under a metal foot sounded like a gunshot.

  "The Observation Deck!" Caleb gasped, his face ashen. He was running alongside them, his knuckles white as he clutched a heavy, jagged cobblestone he’d pried from the ground. "We have to get to the deck! The parents—"

  "I know!" Grace barked, but her eyes were fixed on the northern rim. Smoke—thick, oily, and black—was already billowing from the very spot where Marin and others were supposed to be.

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  They ducked into a narrow alleyway, the scent of burnt sugar and ozone thick in the air. But as they reached the end, a machine leapt from the roof above, cutting off their path. It was taller than a man, its plating frosted with a rime that never melted. Its eyes were twin pits of flat, glacial light.

  The machine leveled a frost-tipped spear. The point gleamed with a predatory chill, aimed directly at Mable’s chest.

  Mable froze. Her breath hitched, her lungs failing to pull in the freezing air. She looked at the spear, then at Grace, her eyes full of a silent, terrifying goodbye. Caleb let out a strangled gasp, his arm tensing to throw the useless stone, but he was too slow.

  Grace didn't think. There was no calculation, no mechanical logic. There was only a roar in her mind that drowned out the sirens.

  She lunged.

  She threw herself in front of Mable, wrapping her arms around her friend’s neck, pulling her into her own chest to shield her. Grace squeezed her eyes shut, her voice tearing raw and fierce from her throat.

  "Not her!"

  For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.

  Deep beneath the surface, a low thunder rolled—a sound too soft for the robots to hear, but so deep it made the mountain’s roots tremble. A tiny, white-hot spark, no bigger than a needle-prick, jumped from Grace’s shoulder and arced onto the tip of the robot's spear.

  The machine jerked. Its arm spasmed as if it had hit a live wire, its internal servos whining in a high-pitched, digital glitch. It staggered back a single step, its sensors flickering.

  Mable, her face pressed against Grace’s racing heart, felt the vibration through Grace’s skin. She saw the tiny flare reflect off the ice on the ground, but before her brain could register it, it was gone.

  A blue-white streak sliced the sky above the rooftops, followed by three more. The air grew impossibly cold, and the sound of singing steel began to drown out the screams.

  "Look," Caleb whispered, his voice cracking with a desperate kind of hope.

  Grace opened her eyes, her arms still locked around Mable. High above, four silhouettes were descending through the smoke, their armor glowing with a light that didn't come from the sun.

  The Knights have arrived.