Salia and Myaal flitted from shadow to shadow as twilight descended on the densely-packed quarter.
“This way,” Mayaal motioned for her brother to follow.
“Cover your hair,” Salia hissed and flipped the ornate hood up over Myaal’s golden cloud of coils. He pulled his own horned hood down over his fall of ebon waves. They were known here.
Others of their kind emigrated to this fault-line city and congregated in this respectable neighborhood.
The streets were muddy and meandered with no discernable pattern, but otherwise this neighborhood was neat and modest. Mayaal pressed herself closer to the next building. Their ornate courtly clothing stood out amid the laborers and housewives.
The order to kill the mismatched twins did not disappear with the downfall of their tribe, the broad-faced Pehni, in their homeland. Or more precisely, the calculated ouster of the tribe by the twins.
“It’s just around the corner,” Mayaal darted from their hiding place.
“Careful!” Salia jerked his sister back into the shadows just as a group of boisterous youth spilled forth from a cafe. “We should have hired someone.” He grumbled as the burly boys rambled down the block.
“She would have just vaporized them,” Myaal said blithely and took off down the street. Salia looked around before slinking after her.
Myaal stood before an tidy blue house with clean pink trim.
“This is it?” Salia asked, eyeing the sigils in the windows.
“Yes,” she said, taking a deep breath, “the greatest lightworker of our tribe lives here.”
“Are you ready for this?” He asked.
“She already knows we are here,” Myaal stepped up to the pink door. “She’s known all along.”
“Everything?” Salia whispered as the door opened.
“Everything,” said the eagle-eyed woman standing before them.