Nura liked the courtyard best in the early morning, when the stones were still cool and the day had not yet gotten busy. She sat near the cracked cistern in the center, her pale apricot tunic neat around her knees, and watched the usual path that crossed the courtyard from the sleeping rooms to the bake nook. That path mattered to her. If it stayed clear, she could finish her steady morning task without anyone stepping on the hot tiles later in the day.
Today, she set one small clay cup after another in a straight line beside the shallow rain channel. Tariq was carrying a basket past the doorways, and Basil was darting between the water jars, counting things under his breath. Everything was settling into its proper shape.
Then Nura felt it: a sudden lick of warmth under the nearest tile.
She looked down. One sun-baked tile near the middle of the path had turned hot. Before she could blink, the heat hopped to the next tile, then the next, making a little moving line across the courtyard floor. Tariq yelped and swung wide. Basil sprang back so fast one sandal skidded in the dust.
Nura lifted her foot too. The hot patch was sliding right toward the place she had been using to cross. It was no longer safe, and it was no longer staying put.
Tariq pointed, eyes wide. “It’s chasing the path!”
Basil leaned forward, then stopped himself, staring at the shifting tiles. Nura watched the warm line creep one step closer to her careful work. She could keep backing away from it, or she could go nearer and try to find out why the tiles were changing.
What happens next?
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