Hundreds of cells lined the vast chamber, a horrific honeycomb of human misery. Each cell housed a figure, a gaunt silhouette against the flickering torchlight. Young and old, their faces etched with despair, their bodies emaciated parodies of their former selves. Some lay huddled in the darkness, their breathing shallow and ragged. Others rattled the bars with skeletal hands, their eyes burning with a desperate, feral hunger.

  The stench of human waste and decay filled the air, an oppressive blanket over the scene of suffering. A choked sob escaped Finn’s lips, and even the ever-stoic Marcus winced, his jaw clenching tight.

  This wasn't just a dungeon, it was a tomb. A place where hope went to die, replaced by a gnawing despair that slowly consumed the soul.

  Anger, hot and potent, bubbled up within me. This was the true face of the king’s reign, not opulent halls and lavish feasts. This was the system we were fighting against, the human cost of unchecked tyranny.

  But amidst the despair, a sliver of defiance sparked in my heart. These weren't just prisoners, they were survivors. And in their hollow eyes, I saw a reflection of our own desperate struggle, a shared yearning for freedom.

  We had stumbled upon a horror far worse than anything we could have imagined, a truth that would forever alter the course of our rebellion. The weight on our shoulders now wasn't just the burden of finding the king’s secrets, but the responsibility to liberate these forgotten souls, to offer them a sliver of hope in this suffocating darkness.

  Kass was the first to break the shocked silence. But this time, her voice, usually steely with resolve, held a tremor of raw empathy. "We need to get them out of here," she rasped, her eyes blazing with a righteous fury.

  Erin, ever the pragmatist, stepped forward, her gaze sweeping across the rows of despair. "There are… too many," she whispered, her voice heavy with despair. "A hundred souls, most too weak to even stand. We can't possibly…"

  The weight of Erin's words settled on me like a leaden weight. She was right. The sheer number was overwhelming, the logistics of escape a near-insurmountable obstacle. Yet, the thought of abandoning these people to their fate, leaving them to rot in this living tomb, ignited a fire in my gut.

  "We have to try," I countered, my voice hoarse with a mixture of anger and defiance. "Even if we can't save them all, we can't just leave them here to die."

  A tense silence followed. Even Finn, usually brimming with mischievous energy, seemed subdued by the bleakness of the situation. We were ill-equipped for such a rescue mission, our supplies meager and our numbers small.

  My boots echoed on the stone floor as I moved forward, the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence. Somewhere, faintly, I could hear the shuffle of feet and the occasional moan of pain. But most of the prisoners had been stripped of even the strength to cry out.

  I scanned every face, every hollow, broken form. My heart clenched as I searched desperately for him. My brother. The image of his face—strong, proud, but always with that wry smirk—kept flashing in my mind. But none of the faces matched. None of them were him.

  "Please," I whispered to myself, my throat tight, "please let him be alive."

  The thought of finding him here, drained of hope or worse, already dead, was almost too much to bear. But what if… what if he wasn’t here at all? What if he’d escaped with the scrolls, slipping past the guards, hiding somewhere far from this nightmare?

  I held on to that sliver of hope, clutching it like a lifeline as I moved further into the dungeon. I couldn’t lose him, not like this. Not without knowing.

  Cell after cell blurred together. Most of the faces were unfamiliar, their despair a mirror of what I felt clawing at my own chest. Each step forward became harder, the weight of failure pressing down on me. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t—

  I froze.

  A flash of blond hair caught my eye, a figure slumped against the bars of a cell further down. My breath hitched as I moved closer, my pulse quickening with a new, sharp kind of hope. But as I reached the bars and peered inside, it wasn’t my brother.

  It was someone else.

  "William," I breathed, barely recognizing the gaunt man staring back at me. His face was sunken, his cheeks hollow, and his once-bright eyes were dimmed by the horrors he’d endured. But despite the pallor of death on him, there was still a spark of defiance in those eyes—a glimmer of the boy I used to know.

  I remembered him, though not well. He used to come by the shop every day when I was a young girl. He’d stand there at the counter, talking to my brother about whatever it was that boys talked about back then—horses, blades, and things I had no interest in. He was two years older than me, and at the time, I thought all boys were disgusting. They smelled like dirt and sweat and always made faces when you tried to talk to them.

  But even then, I knew William was different. He had that mischievous smile, the one that made Kilian roll his eyes and tell him to stop being so charming. At first, I never thought much of him beyond that. It wasn’t until he started apprenticing at the bakery that I saw him differently. As he grew into his body, added a bit of muscle, and started working with the dough and the ovens, the local girls would flock around him like bees to honey. He was… handsome, I guess. Strong.

  Now, though, standing before him in this dark cell, I barely recognized the boy I’d once known. The man before me was a shadow, a hollow version of himself, like death had taken him one piece at a time. Where there had been a proud, confident grin, there was now a tired, broken expression. His blond hair, once wild and bright, was thin and limp, matted against his skull.

  But in those eyes—those once-laughing eyes—I saw the defiance, the same fire that had burned in him years ago. It was a flame flickering, barely alive, but it was there.

  "William," I whispered again, my heart aching with something raw and unnameable. "What happened to you?"

  "Kira?" His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but it cut through the stillness like a shout.

  "William," I said again, my voice thick with emotion as I knelt closer to the bars. "What… what have they done to you?"

  He let out a low, bitter laugh that quickly dissolved into a cough. "What haven’t they done?" he rasped, his eyes glinting with that old defiance, though it was fragile now, a flicker of the boy I remembered. "You’re… you’re here for him, aren’t you?"

  The question slammed into me like a blow. He didn’t need to say my brother’s name. I nodded, unable to speak.

  William’s gaze softened, just for a moment, and he shook his head weakly. "I haven’t seen him," he murmured. "Not… not in here. Maybe he’s still out there. Maybe he got away."

  My chest tightened. The hope in his words felt dangerous, fragile, but I couldn’t let it go. Not yet.

  "We’ll get you out of here," I said, my voice trembling. I gripped the bars so tightly my knuckles turned white. "We’ll get you somewhere safe."

  William’s smile was faint, tired. "Still so stubborn," he muttered. But there was something in his tone—gratitude, maybe, or relief—that steadied me.

  Our conversation was abruptly cut short by a sharp metallic clang echoing from the hallway. A heavy door groaned open, followed by the sound of booted footsteps approaching.

  "Who's there?" a gruff voice boomed. The guards. They had discovered us.

  A surge of adrenaline shot through me. We were caught, exposed in this vast chamber with no escape route in sight.

  A desperate battle cry erupted from Erin as she launched herself at the first guard who rounded the corner. Her sword, Wraithcaller, gleamed in the dim light, its dark steel etched with intricate patterns that seemed to ripple like smoke. She moved with a predator’s precision, her strikes fluid and unrelenting as she forced the guard back, her blade seeking the gaps in his armor with ruthless efficiency.

  Caleb and Kass followed suit, their weapons blazing a path through the chaos. Caleb wielded Oathbreaker, the sword seeming alive in his hands, the faint silver striations along its dark surface catching the flickering torchlight. It cut through the air with an ominous hum, a weapon forged for war and wielded with terrifying expertise.

  Kass’s blade, Ashbringer, shined like molten fire. The sword’s elegant carvings contrasted sharply with the ferocity of her strikes.

  The guards were trained, their movements honed in countless battles. They met the initial assault with a practiced ease, their armored forms shrugging off attempts to pierce their defenses.

  Above the din, a sudden screech pierced the air. Orion, a blur of feathered fury, swooped down from the darkness. He had been perched on a high ledge, a silent observer until the chaos erupted. Now, he launched himself at one of the guards, talons extended and a fierce cry ringing out.

  The guard, startled, swung his sword wildly, but Orion was too swift. With a flash of brown and white, the hawk raked his face, leaving a bloody furrow across the exposed skin near his eyes. The guard roared in pain, momentarily disoriented, clutching at his face as he stumbled back.

  Through the haze, I could see Marcus emerge from a shadowy alcove, his bow drawn taut. He loosed an arrow, the fletching whispering a deadly song as it ripped through the air. It met its mark with a resounding thunk, clattering harmlessly off the guard's heavily armored chest.

  Disappointment etched itself onto Marcus's face. These weren't ordinary guards; their plate armor was thick and impervious to ranged attacks. But he didn't falter. With practiced efficiency, he nocked another arrow, his eyes scanning for a weakness, a single exposed chink in their metallic defenses.

  Panic threatened to consume me, but then I saw him fight. Caleb.

  He moved with a lethal grace I'd never witnessed before, a stark contrast to the controlled movements of our training sessions. His sword was a blur of deadly precision. He parried a blow from one guard, the clang echoing through the chamber, then spun, his blade flashing silver in the flickering light as it disarmed another.

  But it wasn't just the swordplay that had me transfixed. Caleb's hands, his entire body, were in constant motion. He expertly used pressure points, twisting and breaking arms with a casual efficiency that was both horrifying and mesmerizing. One moment he was deflecting a strike, and the next, a guard was on the ground, clutching his shattered arm, the pain clear even from where I stood. Caleb didn't even flinch as he continued, his face a mask of focused intensity.

  My traitorous gaze lingered on him, captivated by the raw power and skill on display. This was a primal force, a predator protecting his territory. A shiver danced down my spine, a confusing mix of fear and something else entirely – a grudging respect morphing into something dangerously close to awe.

  He fought like a man possessed, his movements a deadly dance honed by countless battles I knew nothing about. Each strike was measured, each parry calculated, a testament to years of experience. A low growl escaped his lips, a primal sound that sent another jolt through me.

  The air in the chamber seemed to shift.

  Caleb brought his blade across one guard’s side, the strike shallow but deliberate. A bead of blood splattered onto the blade, and the surface rippled, shimmering faintly as if alive. The hum I’d heard before—a soft, resonant vibration—reached my ears, barely audible over the chaos.

  The effect was instant. The guard froze mid-swing, his sword hovering in the air as if he'd forgotten what to do with it. His head tilted slightly, his expression blank, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He stared at the weapon in his hands, confused, his lips forming a faint murmur I couldn’t hear.

  Caleb stepped forward, driving Oathbreaker into the guard’s chest. The guard fell, his lifeless body crumpling to the ground, but my eyes stayed locked on Caleb—and that sword.

  The ripple? The sound? The way the guard had stopped, confused, like he’d been pulled from this moment into another, unable to remember why he was here. It was wrong. Unnatural.

  Just then, a guard broke through Kass' defenses, landing a solid blow to her shoulder. She stumbled back, a gasp escaping her lips. In that split second, Caleb's voice boomed across the chamber, cutting through the chaos.

  "Kass! Fall back, regroup!" His voice, usually calm and collected, held a steely edge I hadn't heard before. "Erin, with me! We take the right flank!"

  The command snapped me out of my daze. Erin, momentarily disoriented by the flurry of attacks, responded instantly to Caleb's order. With a silent nod, they launched a coordinated assault, their movements a deadly ballet honed by years of training together.

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  Caleb moved with a ferocious efficiency, his blade a silver streak in the dim light. He fought not with brute force, but with calculated precision, exploiting weaknesses in the guards' defenses. His experience against heavily armored opponents was evident in the way he targeted exposed joints and visors, aiming to disable rather than overpower.

  Erin complemented Caleb’s style perfectly. Her agility and quick strikes kept the guards off-balance, creating openings for his finishing blows. Together, they were a force of nature, carving a bloody path through the enemy ranks.

  But it wasn’t just her speed that held my attention—it was something more. My breath hitched as I watched Erin move—fluid, like water in a stream, quick and precise. A guard lunged toward her with a heavy sword, but his strike cut only air. She wasn’t just fast; she was impossible to hit.

  The guard’s swing missed by a mile.

  Erin’s lips curled into a sharp smirk, her voice cold and cutting. "You should’ve stayed in bed, mate." Her tone was laced with a confidence that sent a chill down my spine. "Now you’ve got me to deal with."

  Wraithcaller gleamed darkly in the dim light, its smoky patterns rippling along the blade as if alive. She ducked under his next swing, her blade a blur as she struck the guard’s exposed side. He grunted, stumbling back as her sword found its mark. Then, something strange happened—just for a second.

  Erin disappeared.

  A ripple of black smoke cloaked her form, and in the blink of an eye, she was gone. No sound, no warning—just an empty space where she had been. The guard staggered, his eyes wide with confusion as he swung wildly at the empty air. Before he could recover, Erin reappeared behind him, the smoke dissipating as suddenly as it had come.

  She moved like a shadow given form, her blade already in motion. Wraithcaller sliced cleanly through the straps of the guard’s armor, leaving him exposed. He turned, too slow, his eyes widening as he realized she was no longer in front of him.

  Her sword flashed again.

  He crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

  I stared, my grip tightening on my own weapon. Had I just imagined that? Was it a trick of the light, or something more? My pulse quickened as I watched her fight, my mind racing. She wasn’t just fast—there was something else at work here, something… unnatural.

  Another guard charged her, roaring as he swung a massive axe toward her head. Erin sidestepped effortlessly, her blade flicking out to parry his follow-up strike. And then it happened again.

  She dissolved into shadow.

  The air where she had stood shimmered faintly, ripples of black smoke curling around her form before she vanished. The guard stumbled, his swing cutting through nothing. I blinked, my eyes darting across the battlefield—and there she was, behind him, her sword already poised for a killing blow.

  This time, I couldn’t deny it. Her sword—it wasn’t just steel. There was magic in it, dark and elusive, and it made her untouchable.

  Erin struck, her blade biting into the guard’s back. He collapsed with a strangled cry, and she stepped over him like it was nothing, her focus already shifting to the next opponent. The smoky ripples along Wraithcaller’s surface seemed to shimmer brighter now, almost as if the blade itself was feeding off the chaos around it.

  I clenched my teeth, my breath coming in shallow gasps. Oathbreaker, and now Erin’s Wraithcaller—two swords that weren’t just weapons, but something far more dangerous.

  What kind of people was I fighting beside? And what did it say about me, that I felt a strange pull to them both, a fascination I couldn’t ignore?

  The clang of steel filled my ears, a relentless symphony of clashing blades and desperate grunts. Kass fought like a cornered wolf, her movements fierce but strained. But the guards, their armor gleaming like malevolent beetles under the flickering torchlight, pressed their advantage.

  "Watch your back!" Kass shouted from across the room, her voice strained but sharp. She had recovered enough to keep fighting, though her shoulder was still bleeding from the hit.

  My peripheral vision caught a glint of steel flashing towards me. A guard, his face hidden in the shadows, had broken free from the fray and launched a surprise attack. My breath hitched, my body screaming in terror.

  A desperate scream tore from my throat as I flung myself sideways, the blade whistling past my ear, taking a chunk of hair with it.

  The guard stumbled slightly, thrown off by my sudden movement. But the reprieve was short-lived. With a roar of rage, he lunged for me again, his massive arm closing around my throat like a vise. Stars danced before my eyes as the air whooshed out of my lungs. Panic clawed at me, my vision blurring at the edges.

  A horrified shriek pierced the air – Finn. But the sound was quickly drowned out by the pounding in my ears. My arms flailed uselessly, clawing at the guard's armored forearm in a desperate attempt to break free. My fingers scraped against the rough leather of his glove, finding no purchase.

  Just as darkness threatened to claim me, a primal instinct surged through me. Gritting my teeth, I lunged forward, my mouth snapping shut on the exposed skin between his gauntlet and his armor. I bit down hard, the metallic tang of blood flooding my mouth.

  A guttural scream erupted from the guard. He recoiled, throwing me to the floor with a painful thud. My breath came in ragged gasps, the taste of blood thick and coppery on my tongue. My vision swam, but I managed to focus on the guard, now clutching his arm, a look of enraged bewilderment contorting his face.

  He bellowed a string of curses in a language I didn't understand, or so I thought at first. Then, a spark of recognition sparked in my mind – the harsh consonants, the guttural vowels – Zilaran.

  My mind raced, pulling fragments of memory from the pages of books I had poured over. Zilaran war histories, accounts of battles fought and lost, written by soldiers and scholars who had survived the king’s campaigns. Though I had never learned to speak it, I had absorbed enough to recognize key phrases.

  Straining to decipher the furious torrent of words, I managed to catch a few of them through the thick Zilaran accent.

  "Shpyon ot Sevraya!" the guard roared, his voice booming as he took a step closer. Spy from the North.

  My stomach clenched. He wasn’t just guessing—he was certain of it.

  "You zaplatish za tvoyo narushenie!" he snarled, spitting the words like a curse. You will pay for your intrusion.

  I froze, my mind racing. I couldn’t respond, couldn’t even feign ignorance—I didn’t know enough of the language to form a coherent sentence. But I understood enough to know he meant every word, and he wasn’t going to stop with threats.

  Before I could even contemplate my next move, he was charging at me again, his sword held high. Fear threatened to paralyze me, but the image of Finn, his face etched with terror, spurred me into action.

  With trembling hands, I drew Fang from its sheath. The weight of it in my palm felt almost comical against the imposing length of the guard's sword. Logic screamed at me to run, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins kept me rooted to the spot.

  "Do you even know who you're fighting for?" the guard sneered, gesturing vaguely behind him. "Did he tell you who he was?"

  He spat the words out like a curse, his gaze flickering between me and the chaos of the fight.

  "You have no idea, do you? Stupid girl."

  My confusion burned hotter than the flames licking at the walls. What was he talking about? What did I not know?

  He took a step closer, his gaze flicking between me and the fight behind him. His lips curled into a snarl as he spat the next words, his voice low and venomous. "Izmennik," he hissed, the unfamiliar word rolling off his tongue like a curse.

  The guttural sound of it made me recoil, even though I didn’t understand what it meant. "What—" I began, but the guard cut me off with a bark of harsh laughter.

  "Shut up," I snapped, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to sound strong. "You don’t know anything about him."

  His grin widened, sharp and predatory. "Oh, I know plenty. More than you, clearly." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Izmennik," he repeated, slower this time, savoring the weight of the word.

  He towered over me, his sword glinting menacingly in the dim light. The reach advantage was all his. I knew I couldn't meet him in a straight fight. I needed to be quick, to exploit his blind spots. I braced myself for the inevitable clash.

  Just as the guard's blade arced down, a dark figure slammed into him from the side. A gasp escaped my lips as Caleb, a blur of fury and muscle, tackled the surprised guard to the ground.

  He moved with a savage grace I'd never witnessed, his own sword flashing like a silver serpent as he disarmed the guard with a swift flick of his wrist.

  "Not her!" Caleb roared, his voice raw with exertion. He knelt on the fallen guard's chest, the tip of his sword pressed against his throat. I couldn't understand the rest, a torrent of Zilaran spewing from Caleb’s lips, a guttural language of hisses and consonants that sounded like fury given voice.

  The hallway echoed with the ragged gasps of the subdued guard, his face turning a sickly shade of purple. A choked cry erupted from the guard as Caleb's blade moved with deadly precision, the fight ending in a sickening thud.

  Silence descended like a heavy shroud, broken only by the ragged gasps for breath from the remaining rebels. My own chest heaved, my heart hammering a frantic tattoo against my ribs.

  "Da zhe ne stoit mogily," Caleb muttered, his voice low, almost casual, as if speaking to himself. His words carried an icy finality that sent a shiver down my spine. Not even worth a grave.

  Caleb rose, his form towering over the fallen guard. He turned towards me, and a strange possessiveness flickered in his eyes, the black depths swirling with something akin to relief and a primal anger. He strode towards me, his movements measured but urgent, the distance between us closing in a matter of seconds.

  He stood so close, the heat radiating from his body a welcome contrast to the chill of the chamber. My breath caught in my throat as his gaze swept over me, a fierce intensity scrutinizing every inch of my form. Then, his hand reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against my cheek, a silent question in his touch.

  "You alright, Sparkle?"

  His voice was a low rumble, laced with a raw emotion that sent shivers down my spine. My traitorous body responded instinctively, leaning into his touch.

  "I-I'm fine," I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. Shame washed over me at my uselessness against the guard's attack. But beneath the shame, a different feeling bloomed in my chest – a strange sense of security, a relief so profound it left me breathless.

  The tender moment shattered as a guttural roar erupted from across the chamber. Another guard, emboldened by the brief lull in the fighting, charged towards Erin with a battle cry. Shame burned in my gut. I couldn't afford to be lost in the afterglow of his protection; the fight was far from over.

  "I'm okay," I forced the words out, my voice stronger this time. The urgency in my tone seemed to register with Caleb. He gave me a curt nod, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

  Before I could dwell on it any further, he was a blur again, launching himself back into the fray. His movements were a lethal dance, his sword a silver streak carving through the remaining guards. He fought with a renewed intensity, his anger at my near miss fueling his every strike.

  I ripped my gaze away from him. "Finn!" I shouted above the clash of weapons. "The door! We need to get William out!"

  He glanced at me, his brow furrowed in concentration. The fight raged around him, the metallic clang of swords meeting shields a cacophony that threatened to drown out my voice.

  "Can't pick it," he yelled back, his voice tight. "Too strong."

  Panic clawed at my throat. Then, a mischievous glint sparked in his eyes. He reached into his seemingly bottomless pouch and pulled out a small, cylindrical object.

  "Move back!" he barked, shoving me and William away from the cell door. We stumbled back, watching with apprehensive curiosity as he attached the cylinder to the cell bars.

  "What is that?" I managed to ask, my voice barely audible over the din.

  "A little improvisation," he replied, holding a glowing ember from a torch near the device.

  There was a hiss, a puff of smoke, and then the chamber erupted in a deafening roar. The force of the explosion sent shockwaves through the room, throwing us all to the ground. The cell door, once an impenetrable barrier, crumpled inwards, its twisted metal bars showering sparks in the flickering torchlight.

  The lock on the broken cell door seemed like it shouldn’t have been that hard to pick. I’d seen Finn tackle tougher obstacles without breaking a sweat.

  "You just wanted to blow something up, didn’t you?" I asked, trying to mask my panic.

  Finn smirked at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Maybe."

  Dust settled around us, the ringing in my ears slowly fading. I scrambled to my feet, coughing and blinking away tears. William, disoriented but unharmed, leaned heavily against the wall.

  "Here," I said, extending a hand to help him. He grasped it weakly, his body protesting with every movement.

  Suddenly, a sickening crack echoed through the chamber. I looked down to see Finn, kneeling beside William, a pair of heavy shackles dangling from a lock he expertly picked.

  "There you go," he said, wiping soot from his face. "All fixed up."

  The fight was becoming a blur, the clang of steel and the shouts of the guards mingling with the rapid pounding of my own heartbeat. My friends were unstoppable, their blades moving like lightning, cutting down one guard after another with ruthless efficiency. But I could see it—their movements were beginning to slow just a fraction, the exhaustion creeping in. We couldn’t keep up with the sheer number of opponents flooding in from every corner.

  I glanced around, trying to take stock of the situation, but the scene was chaos. Guards kept appearing, one after another, their heavy footsteps thundering toward us. It was clear now that no matter how skilled we were, we were not going to be able to hold this position for much longer. The room felt smaller, tighter, the walls pressing in with every new wave of soldiers.

  "Shit…" I muttered under my breath, feeling the dread sink in my chest. The air was thick with the stench of sweat and blood, and it was starting to feel like we were drowning in it.

  "More are coming," I said, my voice tense, as I caught sight of several more guards entering the chamber. The tunnel was too narrow for us to retreat without being cut off, and the tension in my gut twisted tighter.

  Erin’s breath was coming in short gasps now, and even Caleb’s movements had slowed, his strikes no longer as quick and devastating as they had been. There was no denying it—we were tired, and the guards kept pouring in.

  Caleb caught my eye from across the room, his face hardening as he surveyed the battle around us. His expression was grim, and I saw the decision forming in his eyes before he even opened his mouth.

  "We can’t keep this up," Caleb yelled, his voice steady, but with an edge of urgency. He hacked through another guard’s defenses and then motioned for us to fall back. "We’ll hold them off. You need to leave. Now."

  I shot him a look. "What do you mean, leave? We’re not abandoning—"

  "I said leave," Caleb cut in, his voice sharp, the command in it making me pause. "We don’t have the numbers. We’re not going to make it through this if we stay. You know it as well as I do. Get to the exit. We’ll cover you."

  "I’m not leaving you behind," I said through gritted teeth.

  "You don’t have a choice," Caleb replied, his voice low but unyielding. "We’ll fight until you’re out of here. Get to the exit, Kira. We’ll hold them off for as long as we can."

  I could see the weight of the decision in his eyes. Caleb wasn’t one to make empty promises. He would stay, he would fight to the end, no matter what. And that left no room for argument.

  "We’ll make it out," I said, my voice firm, even though my stomach churned at the thought. "You just make sure you’re still alive when we get back. Got it?"

  Caleb gave me a sharp nod. "We’ll be fine. Just go."

  I swallowed hard, the bitter taste of failure in my mouth, but there was no time to dwell on it. We couldn’t afford to be sentimental. If we didn’t move now, we’d all be trapped.

  Marcus gave one last, furious glance at the line of guards closing in around us, then nodded sharply, his eyes flicking toward the exit. "Stay alive, you idiots," he muttered, and then, without another word, he turned and started leading the way, offering William additional support.

  Finn followed close behind, our eyes never leaving the three of them as they took position, preparing to fight until the last breath.

  "Don’t get yourselves killed," I whispered under my breath, knowing they wouldn’t hear me. But the words still felt necessary, even if they were just for my own peace of mind. William, leaning heavily against me, offered a shaky nod.

  The passage was narrow, barely wide enough for the three of us to walk abreast. As we hurried deeper into the darkness, a haunting glow pulsed in the corner of my vision. Elyse’s light, perched on my shoulder, its luminescence intensified, urging us forward with a frantic urgency. They were coming. We had to reach the door at the far end before they overwhelmed us.

  A bloodcurdling scream shattered the tense silence. My heart lurched. It couldn't be-

  "Finn!" I shrieked, spinning towards the rear of the passage. My breath hitched in my throat. A lone guard, his face contorted in rage, had cornered Finn. The nimble rogue, skilled with explosives and traps but not so much in hand-to-hand combat, cowered before the ironclad giant, a pathetic picture of helplessness.

  Fury boiled within me, scorching away the suffocating grip of fear. In a split second, I reached for my dagger. Without conscious thought, I flung it across the distance.