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“You fight well,” one of the Zmaj says.

I press a hand to my wound, meeting his gaze.

“You watch well.”

A flicker of something in his expression. Respect, perhaps. Not much. But a start. I exhale, glancing down the tunnel. The path ahead is dangerous. But I will return to my people—and when I do, I will bring proof of the resistance to the Al’fa. He will see that my people still stand with me.

Together, we will tear the Shaman from his throne.

24

ELARA

Iwant them both close. Closer than breath. Closer than fear.

The thought echoes louder inside my head. Louder than the crumbling stone. Louder than the low, hungry hum seeping through the walls. Louder even than my own better judgment.

Z’leni’s eyes don’t leave mine. He doesn’t look away, smirk, or deflect with a cutting remark like I expect. He just stares. Quiet. Unflinching. Like he’s trying to see something buried deep beneath my skin. Maybe he is.

“I should fear you,” I whisper.

The words surprise me even as they leave my mouth, but they’re true. Z’leni tilts his head slightly.

“Yes,” he murmurs, the word sinking into my skin like a brand.

“I don’t.”

There’s a moment of stillness. A moment where everything narrows to just the three of us in this tight, broken space. Torchlight flickers, catching the rough edges of ancient stone, painting the chamber in restless gold. Ryatuv holds my wrist. Z’leni is close enough I feel the heat of his body, even though we’re not touching.

It should be claustrophobic. It’s anything but.

“You’ve seen what they are,” Ryatuv says, looking at Z’leni then back at me, like I’m the strange one now. Like I’m the anomaly in all of this. “You saw what his people have done. How they are. What they did to you. You should fear them. All of them, including him.”

Z’leni doesn’t say anything, but his eyes bore into mine, ready to accept whatever I say next. His lips are a tight line. I want to kiss the pending frown away.

“No,” I say immediately. “I shouldn’t and I don’t. He’s not like them.”

Z’leni’s laugh is short. Bitter. “You don’t know that.”

“You’re not,” I say again, firmer now. “You bleed. You fight. You protect. Maybe not perfectly. Maybe not kindly, but you’re stilltrying.That’s what matters.”

I don’t realize I’m trembling until Ryatuv shifts closer and wraps his other arm around me. Just like that. No hesitation. His body curves around mine like a shield, all cool and hard muscle and wings that shift slightly to block the cold. It’s so sudden, so comforting, that I don’t fight it in the slightest. Instead. I lean into him.

His breath brushes the side of my neck, warm and steady. Z’leni doesn’t move, but something shifts behind his eyes.

“He’s not the only one who’d die to keep you breathing,” Ryatuv says, quietly.

I glance at him. His expression is unreadable. His jaw is tight and his hands twitch, curling like he’s holding something back.

“I don’t want you to die,” I say.

“Not yet?” he asks, lips curving in that familiar, sardonic way.

“Not ever,” I say, shaking my head.

That lands heavier than I expect. For a heartbeat, the tension rises between us. Sharp and full of unspoken things. Ryatuv’s thumb is still brushing the inside of my wrist. Z’leni’s watching both of us now, gaze flickering between the places we touch.

His shoulders are tense. His eyes dark.