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I try to smother the pang of uncertainty in my chest. I’ve killed countless times before without blinking. But the image of that dark-haired slave kneeling in the rain, her collar glinting, posture proud despite her chains—it rattles me in a way I can’t name.

Why this one?

The storm’s roar offers no answers. Gritting my teeth, I lead my brethren into the night sky, away from the dark elf fortress. Soon, the real slaughter will begin. My only task is to exterminate every female who might harbor purna magic.

As the wind howls and lightning crackles, I feel something shift inside me—a hairline fracture in the certainty that’s always defined me as the Alpha’s unquestioning executioner.

A seed of doubt takes root, and it refuses to let go.

3

ELYRIA

Ican’t stop replaying last night’s chaos in my mind. By the time Zhorath drags me back to the cramped slave quarters, the storm has torn itself out across the skies, leaving the fortress battered and tense. Everyone feels the reverberations of the attempted infiltration: dark elves stomping through corridors, demanding to know how a gargoyle managed to slip inside. Hushed talk of scattered bodies, of half a dozen guards found dead and drained of blood in the halls.

Gargoyles,the rumors whisper. They can slip through cracks in the night, a terror from above. The fortress’s masters are furious and afraid, and that crack in their confidence is the only reason I dare hope for a successful escape now.

Because I see how frantically they roam the corridors, demanding accountability. I see how the usual discipline over the slaves lapses as the overseers scramble to answer their superiors. The entire place is one raw nerve, and fear is thicker than the stench of rot. If ever there was a chance to flee, it’s when your captors are preoccupied with a bigger threat.

Even so, my heart hammers in my chest as I crouch in a cramped corner of the slave quarters, chain coiled around myankles. The small rectangular room is dimly lit by a single guttering lamp. A half-dozen other slaves huddle around me, their eyes hollow. Everyone is trembling, exhausted from a day and night of brutality and panic. Zhorath keeps us here with the chain locked to a metal ring in the wall. Usually, we’re too broken to consider pulling free.

ButI’m not broken yet.

I’m bruised, half-starved, and my arms and legs still ache from scrubbing floors in a thunderstorm, yet I can’t let go of the idea that it might be now or never. While the dark elves are reeling from the gargoyle incursion, maybe I can slip away. And yes, there is a part of me that clenches with terror at the thought of gargoyles out in the wild, waiting to snuff out human women. But what’s the alternative? Life here is a slow death.

I dig my fingers under the iron collar around my neck. It’s battered and rusted but still sturdy as sin. Tearing it off with brute strength is impossible, but I might not need to remove it entirely if I can just free the chain that tethers me. I test the ring bolt in the wall. It’s old, crumbling around the edges. My breath rattles with excitement. I bite my lip, risking a whisper to the nearest slave, a woman named Selin.

“Help me loosen the bolt,” I say. “If we can pry it free, I can?—”

She just stares at me, eyes wide with dread. “They’ll kill us if they find out.”

“They’ll kill us anyway,” I mutter, my voice trembling with pent-up frustration. “Look at what they did last night. Guards are on edge. They’re not watching us as closely as usual. We might never get a chance like this again.”

She winces, glancing around at the others. No one else moves. They’re too terrified of the repercussions. Slowly, I realize it’s just me—the only one with a shred of defiance left.

My hands are shaky as I grip the bolt with my fingertips. The mortar around it feels crumbly. I twist, push, pull. Inch by inch,I manage to loosen the bracket anchoring the ring to the wall. Each squeak of metal against stone makes my pulse skyrocket, but the steady hum of tense activity beyond the door conceals any small noises I make.

Seconds turn to minutes. I grit my teeth, ignoring how raw and numb my fingers become. Finally, with a muffledpop, the bracket gives. The ring slides out, leaving behind a jagged hole. I freeze, expecting some guard or overseer to burst in—but no one does. Outside, I hear only the echo of angry voices and frantic bootsteps.

“I’m leaving,” I whisper to the others. My adrenaline is so high I feel almost detached from my body. “I—I can’t stay.”

Selin’s eyes fill with tears. She doesn’t say a word, just gives a tiny, sorrowful shake of her head. The others remain silent, unwilling or unable to risk what I’m about to do. My heart aches, but I can’t carry them all with me. I can barely hope to save myself.

I rise to my feet, chain in hand. The collar is still fastened tight around my neck, but at least no one is holding the other end. I coil the slack so it doesn’t clink and slip to the narrow door, pressing my ear against the wood. Beyond, the corridor is alive with tension. I hear footsteps racing by and distant shouts.

Steeling myself, I ease the door open a fraction. The hallway is dimly lit by a single sconce. Two dark elf guards hurry past, each wearing heavy boots that clatter on the stone. My breath catches when I see them, fear spiking.If they spot me, it’s the lash… or worse.

They vanish around the corner, leaving the corridor momentarily empty.Now.I slide out, pressing my back to the cold stone. The air here smells of sweat, sour with fear. I clutch the coil of chain with trembling fingers. My plan is half-formed: get out of the slave quarters, find a route to the fortress’s perimeter, slip out while the guards are in chaos.

My stomach twists as I recall that the outside world offers no real safety. The gargoyles are out there, hunting.But I have to take that chance.Better to gamble on outrunning them than to remain certain I’ll die in chains.

I hurry down the hall, mindful of the scuffing of my bare feet. Every so often, I flatten myself into an alcove when I hear footsteps. Twice, dark elves jog by me, cursing under their breath about incompetent watchers andhow in the abyss gargoyles got inside the fortress.

A swirl of memory hits me: in the courtyard last night, through the sheets of rain, I could’ve sworn I saw a gargoyle overhead—a massive shape with broad wings. For an instant, I’d felt something like…recognition.As if his eyes were on me, specifically. Then the thunder boomed, and he was gone.

The memory sets my heart thudding again, but I push it aside. I don’t have time for that. Right now, I need to focus on each precarious step.

At the next fork, I recall from my forced labor routes that one corridor leads toward the kitchens and outer courtyards; the other descends deeper into the fortress, toward the dungeons and storerooms. I wantout, so I pick the corridor leading up. If I can reach the courtyard, maybe I can slip under the portcullis or find a crumbling section of wall.