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We begin our trek back through the woods, Dayn a few paces behind me. I can feel his eyes on my back like physicalpressure. The weight of my grandmother’s warning sits heavy in my chest.

Drink his blood. Right. Should I just ask for a free sample? Maybe suggest a blood donation drive?Hey, Dayn, feeling charitable today? The Blood Bank of Esme is running dangerously low.

The forest path narrows, forcing us to walk single file. Branches reach out like grasping fingers, occasionally snagging my jacket. In the distance, I can just make out the silhouette of Heathborne’s towers against the night sky, a dark mountain of stone and secrets. I reluctantly pop a suppression pill and begin to glamour myself back into the appearance of Clara Winters, blue eyes included. We’re getting close.

“You’re unusually quiet,” Dayn observes from behind me. “Second thoughts?”

“Just strategizing,” I reply, stepping over a fallen log. “Trying to predict how many ways this could go horribly wrong.”

“A worthwhile exercise,” he says, and I swear I can hear amusement in his voice. “Though futile. The variables are too numerous.”

“That’s comforting.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

We lapse back into silence. The runes on my wrist pulse in time with my heartbeat, a constant reminder of the connection between us. A connection I apparently need to deepen by ingesting his blood. Fantastic.

Hey, I’ve been thinking about starting a new liquid diet. Got any recommendations? Perhaps something dark, ancient, and directly from your veins?

I stifle a snort at my own absurdity. Focus, Esme.

“Something amusing?” Dayn asks.

“Just contemplating the ridiculousness of my life choices.” I push a low-hanging branch out of my way. “Never thought I’d be escorting an unconscious clearblood guard through the woods with a dragon.”

“Life is full of surprises.”

“Is that what this is? A surprise? Because it feels more like a carefully orchestrated trap.”

Dayn shifts Mazrov’s weight on his shoulder. “Perception is subjective.”

“Philosophy now? Really?”

The trees begin to thin as we approach the edge of the forest, and I can see Heathborne’s imposing silhouette growing larger against the night sky. I quicken my pace slightly, eager to get this over with.

“Slow down,” Dayn says behind me. “We need to approach cautiously.”

I roll my eyes where he can’t see. “Right, because two people carrying what’s obviously a body-shaped sack won’t attract attention regardless of our speed.”

“Your sarcasm is noted but unnecessary,” he replies coolly.

We fall into silence as we continue our trek. The runes on my wrist pulse rhythmically, almost mockingly.Drink his blood. Drink his blood.My grandmother’s words echo in my head like some demented nursery rhyme.

I glance back at Dayn, studying his profile in the moonlight. His jaw is set, eyes focused ahead, carrying Mazrov’s considerable weight as effortlessly as if the guard were made of cotton. How exactly does one casually extract blood from a dragon? I imagine myself attempting small talk while palminga syringe:So, lovely weather we’re having. Mind if I just... tap a vein?

The absurdity almost makes me laugh out loud again.

“Sure nothing’s on your mind?” Dayn asks without looking at me.

“Just wondering if dragons are blood type O-negative. You know, universal donors and all that.”

His step falters slightly—the first sign of surprise I’ve ever seen from him. “An odd question.”

“I have a naturally inquisitive mind.”

“Indeed.” His voice is flat. “Though I suggest focusing your curiosity elsewhere.”

We emerge from the forest onto a narrow path that winds its way toward Heathborne’s service entrance. The massive stone walls loom above us, windows dark except for the occasional flicker of lamplight. Guards will be patrolling, but Dayn seems unconcerned, striding forward with purpose.