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“Perhaps you believe that. Or perhaps someone lied about your origins. It wouldn’t be the first time the elves tried to obscure a lineage that might threaten them.” I step closer, eyes narrowing. “Regardless, killing you felt…wrong. Enough so that I was willing to risk the punishment. If I’d obeyed, I’d have devoured your soul, but I suspect it wouldn’t have gone down easily.”

Her lips press into a thin line, confusion warring with alarm. “You’re sure I’m not just...some random anomaly?”

I shrug, the movement sending a ripple of tension across my massive shoulders. “I know what I sensed. And it compels me to find out more.” My voice dips lower. “That doesn’t make us allies. Don’t fool yourself. If it turns out I’m mistaken, I might change my mind about keeping you alive.”

Her jaw clenches. For a moment, I see a flicker of fear in her eyes, quickly replaced by determination. “I’m not asking for your friendship,” she says, voice taut. “Just a chance to live.”

We stand in silence, the hush of the plaza pressing in. I can almost hear the beat of her heart, strong and insistent. My own pulses in time with the contract’s ache, each throb driving me toward a moment of decision.

Kill her now, reclaim my role, and endure the contract’s chains. Or keep her alive, defy the elves, and possibly discover a key to my freedom. Neither path guarantees survival. If the King unleashes his full might, I’ll be hunted across every corner of Vhoig—and beyond.

I cannot bring myself to behead her. My claws twitch, longing for resolution, but I stay my hand. “This city will hunt us,” I say at last, letting the truth settle between us. “They’ll send soldiers, sorcerers, maybe other demons bound to their service. Do you understand what that means?”

She exhales shakily. “They were already going to kill me. I have nothing to lose.”

I watch her, noting the haggard set of her shoulders. Despite everything, that spark of rebellion in her eyes hasn’t dimmed. It’s reminiscent of a caged beast that refuses to die quietly. It’s too intriguing to snuff out.

I jerk my chin, gesturing we should move on. “There’s a safe route through the rooftops,” I repeat. “Once we reach the catwalks, we can circle around to a place I know. It isn’t exactly comfortable, but it’ll keep us hidden until I decide what comes next.”

She doesn’t argue, only nods and falls into step with me. We weave through narrow lanes, avoiding the main thoroughfares where watchmen might be searching. The city’s layout challenges us; we’re forced to backtrack several times, encountering blocked alleys and gates sealed by ward-laced locks. My curse thrums with each ward we pass, threatening to trigger if I attempt to break them. I hold myself in check, not wanting to rouse every sentinel within earshot.

Eventually, we reach a cluster of abandoned buildings near the trade district’s perimeter. Rusted iron ladders cling to the walls, leading up to a network of catwalks that crisscross the rooftops. Magic-lantern light seeps up from the streets below, creating patches of illumination amid the gloom.

I climb the first ladder with an ease born of raw strength. My horns brush against the rungs as I ascend. Valentina follows, wincing as she shifts her weight onto the metal steps. She’s clearly tired, arms shaking, but she doesn’t complain. At thetop, the catwalk sways beneath our combined mass. I hold the railing, guiding her forward.

From this vantage point, I see the spires of Vhoig more clearly. They’re a tangle of twisted architecture, each tier vying for grandeur. The Deceiver’s temple stands near the apex, its needle-like towers silhouetted against the night sky. Magical orbs float around the upper city, shining like captive stars. The entire vista would be beautiful if I didn’t know the depths of cruelty thriving beneath those shimmering facades.

We progress carefully along the network of walkways, crossing from one rooftop to another. The boards creak under my weight. More than once, I must extend a hand to keep her from stumbling. Each time our palms touch, a strange tingle sparks where our skin meets.

“You’re shaking,” I remark at one point, glancing down at her pale face. “We can rest if you can’t go on.”

Her jaw sets stubbornly. “I’m fine. We have to keep moving.”

I grunt, recognizing that same defiance that tempted me to spare her. “Suit yourself.”

A minute later, we pause on a broad rooftop to survey the surrounding area. Below, the wide avenues bustle with uneasy crowds. Dark elf patrols in their polished armor move in formation, scanning every alleyway. Their presence is heavier than usual, a direct response to the fiasco in the palace.

Valentina notices them too, her brows drawing together. “They’ve deployed this many soldiers just for me?”

“Not for you alone.” I scowl. “They’re after me as well—my defiance of the contract is an affront to King Grymlock’s power. He’ll want to stamp out the rumor that his prized demon enforcer turned traitor.”

She shudders, hugging herself. “So we’re both hunted.”

I offer a low, humorless laugh. “Yes, human. You could say we share a predicament.”

Her eyes flick over my face. I can guess the question forming in her mind:Is it worth it, to keep me alive if it means this much trouble?She says nothing, though, and I appreciate the silence.

I lead her across one more precarious catwalk, then we descend into a narrow courtyard enclosed by high walls. Broken scaffolding litters the perimeter, evidence of half-finished construction or expansion halted for reasons unknown. A single archway leads into a half-buried structure. My memory whispers that this place was once an outpost used by smugglers, before the elves seized control. I discovered it when I was first summoned to Vhoig, scouting for potential strongholds or hidden routes.

I push aside a rotting wooden door, revealing a cramped interior that smells faintly of damp stone and stale air. The single room features a collapsed beam and a few abandoned crates. Dim light filters through a gap in the ceiling. I check for wards, exhaling relief when I sense none.

“This will do for now,” I say, ushering her inside.

She steps in, arms folded to keep warm. The ambient temperature here is slightly cooler than the muggy streets, making the bruises on her skin stand out in sharp contrast. I catch a flicker of fatigue in her eyes. She totters, and I snap out a hand to steady her. My palm nearly spans her entire shoulder.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, fighting to regain composure.

We settle near one of the crates. I lower myself onto a chunk of broken stone, wincing as tension thrums across my stiff wings. She leans against the wall, sliding down until she’s sitting with her knees drawn up. For a moment, we just breathe.