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Korrin’s expression is grim. “If it’s just four, I can take them. But it risks alerting more. They might have a campsite nearby. If they vanish, the fortress will send more. We need to avoid a direct clash if possible.”

I swallow a bitter taste. The idea of him killing to protect me sits uneasily in my chest, but the alternative—being dragged back to the fortress or handed over to the Alpha’s decrees—is unthinkable. “What if they find us anyway?”

His gaze flicks to my collar. “Then we fight. Or we flee deeper into the woods. But running blindly invites other threats.”

Dread and frustration tangle in my gut. My hands shake. “I don’t want to be captured again,” I rasp.

“I won’t let that happen,” he says, voice low and fierce. Something in his tone steadies me despite my fear.

We wait in tense silence for what feels like hours. The voices drift closer, then fade. Twigs snap, leaves rustle. My muscles ache from crouching. After an agonizing wait, the forest grows quiet once more, the hush returning to an uneasy normal.

Korrin peers over the ridge again, then exhales. “They’re gone.”

My knees nearly give out from relief. But the tension in the air remains, a promise that they might come back with reinforcements. I rise carefully, arms trembling. “They know someone’s here.”

He nods, wings flaring slightly. “They suspect. We can’t be certain they won’t return.”

We exchange a long look, neither of us voicing the fear that tomorrow or the next day might bring an entire squad. I clench my fists, wishing desperately for the freedom to run from this place. But Korrin is right. Running blindly isn’t a solution.

Later that evening, the weight of this looming threat presses heavily on me. I stand near the broken arch at the tower’s edge, gazing out into the dusk-lit forest. The air smells of pine and damp earth. Somewhere, an owl hoots, making me jump. My nerves are frayed.

Korrin appears behind me, silent as always. My chest twists with relief at his presence, though I refuse to show it. It sickens me that I rely on him so much. I cross my arms over my chest, keeping my gaze forward.

He remains a pace behind, a hulking shadow in the gathering dark. “You all right?” he asks quietly.

Am I? The memory of dark elf voices in the mist replays in my mind. I force a bitter laugh. “No. But it seems I have no choice.”

His claws scrape gently across the stone floor. “Choice in what?”

I whirl, glaring. “In trusting you.” The admission comes out more raw than I intend. “I never wanted this. But if they’re out there, I can’t survive alone.”

His eyes gleam with that molten light. “You resent needing me.”

I grit my teeth. “Wouldn’t you?”

A flicker of sympathy crosses his face. “Yes,” he admits. “But I’m glad you haven’t tried to run off in your anger. It would end badly for you.”

My temper flares, but it’s tempered by harsh reality. “I know. That doesn’t make it easier.”

He takes a half-step closer, tension coiled in his body. “I’ll keep watch every night until we’re sure they’ve moved on. But if they return in force, we have to be ready to leave.”

I nod, biting my lip. “And where will we go?”

His shoulders slump. “I’m… not certain. Farther north, maybe. There are places in the mountains where neither dark elves nor gargoyles roam freely. But it’s a hard journey.”

The thought of a trek through unknown terrain twists my stomach, but the alternative is captivity or death. “I’ll do it if we must,” I whisper. “I won’t be a slave again.”

He exhales, wings rustling. The faint torchlight from our campfire flickers over his face, highlighting the ridges of his horns. “Then we agree.”

A fragile moment settles between us. My anger and fear swirl beneath the surface, but for once, I let myself feel the solace of having someone standing by me. I hate that it’s a gargoyle who once was sworn to kill my kind. But here he is, arms folded, gaze scanning the perimeter like a sentinel.

I shake my head, turning back to the archway. A ragged sigh escapes me. “I still loathe this collar,” I say, voice ragged. “But I’m beginning to see… you’re the only one who’ll keep me safe.”

He hesitates. “I never wanted you to wear it. But I can’t remove it yet. Not without risking everything if we cross paths with my kin.”

Bitterness churns, but I clamp it down. “Promise me that if we make it to those mountains—if we find somewhere hidden—you’ll remove it.”

He steps closer, the warmth of his body brushing my shoulder. My heart jolts at his nearness, the memory of our tangled limbs. “I promise,” he murmurs. “I hate it as much as you do.”

I glance up, startled by the sincerity in his tone. Our eyes meet, and the embers of that night stir in my chest. My breath catches. For a beat, I think he might touch me, might close the small distance between us. But he only stands there, tension crackling.

“Thank you,” I manage, voice low. The admission tastes foreign on my tongue, but I can’t deny I’m relieved to have his vow.

That same night, a hush descends as we settle near the fire. Korrin takes the first watch, perched on a hunk of masonry, while I curl on my bedding. The collar digs into my neck if I turn the wrong way. My frustration flares, but fear weighs heavier, a reminder of how close the dark elves might be.

Hours pass in a strange half-sleep. When Korrin finally wakes me for my turn, I blink groggily at the embers. “My watch?” I ask.

He nods, exhaustion lining his features. “Just for a bit. I’ll sleep lightly.”

I stand up, ignoring the twinge in my ankle. The chain drags as I step away from the bedding. “Go on,” I mutter, waving him off. My tone is harsher than intended, but we’re both worn thin.

He lies down, wings folded around him like a leathery blanket, but I sense he’s still half-alert.

I pace the ruin, scanning the shadows, every gust of wind making my heart lurch.

The forest feels too quiet. My thoughts wander to the inevitability of fleeing, imagining the perilous journey beyond.

Could I truly handle a trek through mountains with a gargoyle as my escort?

Then my mind drifts to that one night—how his touch chased away my terror for a few hours, replaced it with something more potent.

A tremor laces my stomach. I shouldn’t crave that closeness again.

But in my darker moments, I can’t help longing for that fleeting sense of safety in his arms. I curse myself for it.

I curse him for awakening desires that war with my pride.

The watch drags on until dawn’s first pale light.

Neither of us sees or hears any new sign of the dark elves.

By the time the sun clears the horizon, my entire body is drained, my nerves raw.

Korrin stirs, pushing off from his sleeping spot.

We exchange wordless glances—exhaustion and wariness mirrored in each other’s eyes.

Days slip by in this pattern: we stand guard by night, scavenge for supplies by day, always prepared to run at the first sign of real danger.

My sense of impending threat never fades, but the dark elves don’t return.

Maybe they’ve moved on to a different territory.

Or maybe they’re gathering a larger force.

At midday on the fifth day since we first heard those voices in the mist, I gather a handful of wild mushrooms in a small clearing near the tower. Korrin stands on the edge, scanning the treetops. The hush is so profound my own breathing sounds thunderous.

Then I hear it: a distant roar of wings. My heart skitters. Gargoyles. I cast a panicked look at Korrin. He stiffens, eyes narrowing as he tilts his head to listen.

“It’s far off,” he murmurs after a moment. “But yes, my kind.”

Fear clenches my gut. If they find us, if they see me—will Korrin truly stand against his own race?

We hurry back to the ruin. Neither of us voices the dread coiling in the silence. Gargoyle scouts or patrols could be even deadlier than dark elves. Their sense of smell, their ability to spot even the faintest clue, could unearth our hiding spot easily.

I hunch by the tower’s battered wall, refusing to let my panic show. “Do you think they’re searching for you?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, grim. “Possibly. My absence hasn’t gone unnoticed, I’m sure. Word might have reached the Alpha that I haven’t delivered any kills in weeks.”

My stomach churns. This is the reality: Korrin’s betrayal of the gargoyles is as dangerous as my escape from the elves. We’re fugitives on both sides.

“You said you’d protect me,” I remind him, hating how desperate I sound.

His face sets into firm lines. “I will. Even from my own kin.”

A surge of conflicting emotion washes over me—relief, but also guilt that he’s risking everything. “Why?” I rasp, not for the first time. “Why would you turn on your own kind for me?”

He hesitates, wings shifting. “Because… it’s wrong. We can’t just kill every human woman for a power they might never awaken.” His gaze flicks away, as if he can’t bear to meet my eyes. “Maybe a part of me remembers what it’s like to be powerless.”

My chest tightens. We rarely talk about his past or the stone sleep that imprisoned his race for a century.

The conversation always tangles in unspoken regrets.

I sense that same hush falling now, and I don’t push.

Fear still roils in my stomach, but I place a trembling hand on his forearm, a silent show of appreciation.

He flinches at the contact, then relaxes, exhaling slowly.

That evening, the tension in the ruin is almost unbearable.

We sense threats from every direction—a tightening vise.

The storm clouds overhead mirror the storm within me, swirling and restless.

I pace near the hearth, arms wrapped around myself.

The firelight casts my shadow across the broken stones, making it look like I have wings of my own.