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“Thank you,” I manage, voice low. The admission tastes foreign on my tongue, but I can’t deny I’m relieved to have his vow.

That same night, a hush descends as we settle near the fire. Korrin takes the first watch, perched on a hunk of masonry, while I curl on my bedding. The collar digs into my neck if I turn the wrong way. My frustration flares, but fear weighs heavier, a reminder of how close the dark elves might be.

Hours pass in a strange half-sleep. When Korrin finally wakes me for my turn, I blink groggily at the embers. “My watch?” I ask.

He nods, exhaustion lining his features. “Just for a bit. I’ll sleep lightly.”

I stand up, ignoring the twinge in my ankle. The chain drags as I step away from the bedding. “Go on,” I mutter, waving him off. My tone is harsher than intended, but we’re both worn thin.

He lies down, wings folded around him like a leathery blanket, but I sense he’s still half-alert. I pace the ruin, scanning the shadows, every gust of wind making my heart lurch. The forest feels too quiet. My thoughts wander to the inevitability of fleeing, imagining the perilous journey beyond.Could I truly handle a trek through mountains with a gargoyle as my escort?

Then my mind drifts to that one night—how his touch chased away my terror for a few hours, replaced it with somethingmore potent. A tremor laces my stomach.I shouldn’t crave that closeness again.But in my darker moments, I can’t help longing for that fleeting sense of safety in his arms. I curse myself for it. I curse him for awakening desires that war with my pride.

The watch drags on until dawn’s first pale light. Neither of us sees or hears any new sign of the dark elves. By the time the sun clears the horizon, my entire body is drained, my nerves raw. Korrin stirs, pushing off from his sleeping spot. We exchange wordless glances—exhaustion and wariness mirrored in each other’s eyes.

Days slip by in this pattern: we stand guard by night, scavenge for supplies by day, always prepared to run at the first sign of real danger. My sense of impending threat never fades, but the dark elves don’t return. Maybe they’ve moved on to a different territory. Or maybe they’re gathering a larger force.

At midday on the fifth day since we first heard those voices in the mist, I gather a handful of wild mushrooms in a small clearing near the tower. Korrin stands on the edge, scanning the treetops. The hush is so profound my own breathing sounds thunderous.

Then I hear it: a distant roar of wings. My heart skitters. Gargoyles. I cast a panicked look at Korrin. He stiffens, eyes narrowing as he tilts his head to listen.

“It’s far off,” he murmurs after a moment. “But yes, my kind.”

Fear clenches my gut. If they find us, if they see me—will Korrin truly stand against his own race?

We hurry back to the ruin. Neither of us voices the dread coiling in the silence. Gargoyle scouts or patrols could be even deadlier than dark elves. Their sense of smell, their ability to spot even the faintest clue, could unearth our hiding spot easily.

I hunch by the tower’s battered wall, refusing to let my panic show. “Do you think they’re searching for you?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, grim. “Possibly. My absence hasn’t gone unnoticed, I’m sure. Word might have reached the Alpha that I haven’t delivered any kills in weeks.”

My stomach churns. This is the reality: Korrin’s betrayal of the gargoyles is as dangerous as my escape from the elves. We’re fugitives on both sides.

“You said you’d protect me,” I remind him, hating how desperate I sound.

His face sets into firm lines. “I will. Even from my own kin.”

A surge of conflicting emotion washes over me—relief, but also guilt that he’s risking everything. “Why?” I rasp, not for the first time. “Why would you turn on your own kind for me?”

He hesitates, wings shifting. “Because… it’s wrong. We can’t just kill every human woman for a power they might never awaken.” His gaze flicks away, as if he can’t bear to meet my eyes. “Maybe a part of me remembers what it’s like to be powerless.”

My chest tightens. We rarely talk about his past or the stone sleep that imprisoned his race for a century. The conversation always tangles in unspoken regrets. I sense that same hush falling now, and I don’t push. Fear still roils in my stomach, but I place a trembling hand on his forearm, a silent show of appreciation. He flinches at the contact, then relaxes, exhaling slowly.

That evening, the tension in the ruin is almost unbearable. We sense threats from every direction—a tightening vise. The storm clouds overhead mirror the storm within me, swirling and restless. I pace near the hearth, arms wrapped around myself. The firelight casts my shadow across the broken stones, making it look like I have wings of my own.

Korrin stands by the archway, scanning the gathering dark. Finally, he turns, jaw set. “We can’t wait for them to find us,” he says. “Better we move before dawn tomorrow.”

My heart skips. “We’re leaving, then?”

He nods. “Yes. We’ll head north, try to reach the foothills. There are caves, hidden valleys. My pack never patrolled that region much. The dark elves seldom stray there either.”

A frisson of both dread and excitement runs through me. “So this is it. We run.”

He steps closer. “It’s the only choice. Unless you want to wait for them to corner us.”

I swallow. “No. I don’t.”

We fall silent, the finality of our decision pressing down on us. Tomorrow, we’ll venture into unknown territory, with no guarantee we won’t be discovered by gargoyle patrols or roving elf scouts along the way. But we have to try. The alternative—waiting for a siege or ambush—feels worse.