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AURELIE

I press my hand against the rough stone wall, trying to slow the dizzy blur that threatens to pull me under. The alleyway spins—or maybe I'm the one spinning—and I clutch my swollen belly with my free hand.

"Just a little farther," I whisper to my child, the words catching in my dry throat. "We're going to make it."

I'm not sure who I'm trying to convince more—the baby or myself.

The red glow of Ikoth's permanent sunset paints everything in shades of blood and rust. It's fitting for a city ruled by demons whose honor codes allow them to own beings like me. Eight months pregnant, and I've been running from Kaelith Shadowfall for almost half that time.

A wave of nausea hits me as I push away from the wall. My legs tremble beneath the weight of my body and the child I carry. I've been surviving on scraps, sleeping in abandoned buildings and alleyways. The hem of my once-fine dress is now tattered and filthy, the fabric stretched tight over my growing stomach.

"Out of the way, human."

I barely have time to press myself flat against the wall before a demon brushes past, massive horns jutting from his temples, skin the color of scorched earth. He doesn't even look at me—just another piece of human trash cluttering his path.

That's good. Invisibility means survival.

My hand instinctively moves to cover the stretch marks beneath my clothes. The marks Kaelith once traced with possessive fingers while whispering that both the child and I belonged to him—his property, his possession. Never his love. Never his equal.

"You won't find us," I murmur, forcing myself forward. "I won't let you."

The street opens into a marketplace teeming with demon merchants and their customers. The air hangs heavy with the scent of spices and meat cooking over open flames. My stomach clenches with hunger, but I have nothing to trade. The few lummi coins I managed to steal before fleeing are hidden in a small pouch sewn into my undergarments—insurance for when things get truly desperate.

A female demon with elegant curved horns eyes me from behind her stall of gleaming fabrics. Her gaze flickers to my stomach, then narrows.

"Looking for something, little mother?" Her voice carries the melodic lilt common to demons from the eastern region of Ikoth.

I lower my eyes instinctively. "No, matron. Just passing through."

"Hmm." She tilts her head, earrings of black metal catching the crimson light. "And whose get do you carry? Your master lets you wander alone in such condition?"

My throat tightens. Any wrong word could be my undoing. If word reached Kaelith?—

"My master is merciful," I manage, the lie bitter on my tongue. "I run errands for his household."

"Without an escort?" Her skepticism is razor-sharp.

I force a smile, channeling the subservient mask I perfected over years of captivity. "He trusts me to return." Another lie. Kaelith had never trusted me—he simply never imagined I would dare to flee.

Until I did.

The marketplace blurs again, and this time I can't hide my stumble. I catch myself against a wooden post, the rough splinters digging into my palm.

The demon merchant's eyes narrow further, suspicion etched into every line of her face. I need to leave—now.

"Apologies. I mustn't delay." I bow my head in feigned deference and shuffle away as quickly as my swollen body allows.

Pain lances through my lower back, a sharp cramping that nearly doubles me over. Not now. Not here. I bite my lip until I taste blood, forcing myself to keep moving through the bustling marketplace.

"Fresh killmar meat! Caught this morning!" A burly merchant's voice booms over the crowd.

"Finest silks from the eastern shores!" Another calls.

Their voices blend into a disorienting cacophony that matches the pounding in my head. When was the last time I ate? Drank? The world tilts dangerously, and I grasp a wooden stall for support.

"Hey! Hands off the merchandise!" A demon vendor slaps my hand away from his display of glimmering trinkets.

"Sorry—I didn't mean—" My words slur together, and the suspicious glares around me multiply.

I need out. I need air. The walls of brightly colored fabrics and bodies seem to close in on me, and the scents of food I cannot afford turn my empty stomach. With one hand protectively over my belly, I push through the crowd, aiming for a narrow alley that might lead away from this chaos.

"You there! Human!"

My heart stutters. I don't look back to see who called—can't risk it. My feet move faster, carrying me away from the marketplace and into the blessed shadows of a side street. The sounds of commerce fade slightly, replaced by the distant rumble of carriage wheels on cobblestones.

"We're almost safe," I whisper to my child, pressing my palm against a sharp kick. "Just a little longer."

But my body betrays me. My knees buckle, and I stumble against the rough stone wall. Dark spots dance across my vision. I've pushed too hard, too long. My hand searches for something to hold, finding only air as I slide down the wall.

"Can't... stop here." My voice breaks on a sob. "Need to... keep going."

My head lists to one side, too heavy to hold upright. Through blurry vision, I survey the narrow passage. No windows overlook this particular stretch, no doors open onto it. Just stone walls and packed dirt beneath me. Not the worst place to die, perhaps, but a terrible place to bring life into the world.

Because that's what's happening, isn't it? The wetness I feel between my legs—my water has broken.

"No," I whisper, panic rising like bile in my throat. "Not here. Not now. Please."

I try to push myself up, but my arms tremble and give way beneath me. My body has nothing left to give. Eight months of pregnancy, three months of running, and who knows how many days of starvation have taken their toll.

"I'm so sorry, little one." Tears track down my filthy cheeks as I curl protectively around my belly. "I tried. I tried so hard to get us away."

Another cramp rips through me, stronger than before. I bite back a scream, knowing it would only draw unwanted attention. My fingers dig into the dirt beneath me.

"Please." I'm not sure who I'm begging—the Seven, the universe, my own failing body. "Please don't let him find us."

Because if Kaelith finds me, I know what awaits. He'll take our child—our daughter, I'm somehow certain—and discard me like the broken possession he's always considered me to be. Or worse, keep me alive just to make me suffer for daring to flee.

The sky above shifts, the eternal crimson deepening as night approaches. The shadows lengthen, and with them, my fear grows. I won't survive another night on these streets—not like this, not in labor.

My eyelids grow impossibly heavy. The pain recedes into a dull throb as my consciousness begins to slip. In the distance, I hear footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate. Coming closer.

Fear spikes through me, jolting me momentarily from the fog of exhaustion. I should hide. Should crawl deeper into the shadows. Should do something—anything—to protect my child.

But my body won't respond. My limbs lie useless, my mind slowly surrendering to the darkness that promises, if nothing else, a temporary escape from pain.

The footsteps grow louder. My eyes flutter closed.

"Kaelith," I whisper, the name both a curse and a prayer. "Don't let it be you."

The darkness claims me before I can see who approaches.