Page 13

The comment hits deeper than I expect. “Loneliness,” I echo, rolling the word on my tongue. “Demonkind doesn’t place much stock in companionship, not the way humans do. We exist in a hierarchy of power and survival.” But I don’t elaborate. She’s not my confidante.

Still, her eyes hold a flicker of empathy. “That’s what the elves want, too,” she says quietly. “To turn us into tools they can break whenever we step out of line.”

My lips pull back in a snarl of agreement. This city thrives on subjugation—of humans, orcs, and even rebellious demons. The contract is the best example of that. They may not have physically chained me, but the effect is the same.

I stand and roll my shoulders, checking the tension in my wings. “We’ve rested long enough,” I say. “Let’s see if the watch has calmed.”

She pushes to her feet. Though her limbs are unsteady, she steadies herself on the wall. “Right behind you.”

We edge outside, returning to the courtyard. The night sky stretches overhead, cloaked in clouds. A few hours must have passed, because the ambient glow from the magical orbs in the upper city has dimmed. The streets are quieter, though I hear distant patrols.

I lead her to a vantage point near a broken arch, where we can peer over the mid-tier streets. Soldiers still roam in small clusters, scanning corners with their arcane lamps. Yet the intensity of the manhunt seems to have lessened, as if they believe we might have fled the city entirely.

I mull our next move. The catacombs or the city outskirts seem equally dangerous right now. Another thought niggles at me—the question of whether she truly possesses something in her blood that could sever my contract. If so, how do I test it?The elves likely know more about it than they let on. Perhaps that’s why they chose her for sacrifice in the first place—to eliminate a threat or to harness a dormant power.

She glances up at me. “You have that look again—like you’re wrestling with a dilemma.”

I snort softly. “I am. I’m trying to decide whether it’s worth risking a direct confrontation with the elves’ archivists or if we should keep running.”

Her brow furrows. “Confrontation? They’d have wards prepared, armies, maybe even another demon. You said so yourself.”

“I did,” I admit, letting a hint of bitterness seep into my tone. “But knowledge is power. If you truly carry something unique in your veins, we might need to find answers in the dark elves’ vaults or libraries. They keep extensive records, particularly on forbidden lineages.”

She pales slightly, though her chin lifts. “You think my lineage is forbidden?”

A hard laugh rattles my chest. “I wouldn’t be surprised. The dark elves despise anything that challenges their monopoly on magic. You might be an abomination in their eyes—or a threat to be exterminated.”

She exhales, trembling fingers brushing the edge of a bruise on her forearm. “Great. More reasons for them to hate me.”

I step closer, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet my gaze. “Hate from the elves is to be expected,” I growl quietly. “But use that hate. Let it fuel you. Because if what I suspect is true, you might be able to break something they’ve kept unbreakable for centuries.” I press a hand to my chest, where the invisible shackles of the contract lie.

Her eyes flicker with realization. She stares at my torso, where faint lines of molten crimson glow beneath my onyx skin. “You really think I could…?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, voice raw. “But I have no other leads.”

She falls silent. The night wind stirs, rustling debris across the courtyard. Tension coils between us, an unspoken alliance formed by desperation and shared enmity toward the elves. My tail twitches, betraying the restless surge of adrenaline.

“Then let’s find out,” she says at last, quiet but firm. “If my blood can do anything—break that contract—then I’ll do whatever it takes.”

I study her face, searching for duplicity. I find only weariness and a fierce spark in her eyes. She’s lost nearly everything, but she’s not broken. A demon’s respect doesn’t come easily, yet she’s earned a sliver of it.

My nod is slight. “If that’s your choice, we’ll need to be smarter than the elves. One misstep and we’re both dead. The archives are in the High District, near the Deceiver’s temple—heavily guarded, teeming with wards. But there might be an archivist on the mid-tier who can be coerced or bribed. It’s risky.”

She raises her brows. “Any less risky than fighting your way into the High District?”

A short bark of dark amusement escapes me. “No. Possibly more doable, though.” My eyes wander to the cityscape. Dawn isn’t far off, the horizon faintly graying. The morning shift of soldiers will soon replace the night patrols, and we should move before they reorganize. “We can slip into the mid-tier marketplaces, blend with the crowds at first light.”

She half-laughs. “Blend? You’re eight feet tall with horns.”

I bare my teeth in a grin. “I have ways of masking my appearance if I must.” My Soz’garoth heritage grants me illusions, though they drain me over time, especially when the contract’s magic gnaws at my core.

She nods slowly, acceptance clear in her expression. “All right. I’m ready when you are.”

A lingering doubt tugs at me,I should kill her now. End this liability.But that impulse withers before it fully forms. I can’t ignore the possibility she represents—the faint hope of severing these chains. Even if she fails, I’d rather try and die on my own terms than spend another century as the elves’ puppet.

I reach out, placing my hand on her shoulder. My claws rest lightly against the torn fabric of her shirt. “We move at dawn,” I say, my voice low. “Until then, stay quiet and conserve your strength. We’ll find a vantage to watch the shift change.”

She exhales, shoulders slumping in relief. “I can do that.”