Page 60 of Fated in A Time of War

Because mercy’s not clean. It’s not pretty. It costs blood and sleep and pieces of yourself you don’t get back. But as his warmth seeps into me, steady, alive, I know the price doesn’t scare me anymore.

Not if it means this.

CHAPTER 19

KRALL

The case digs into my back with every damn step, straps chafing against cracked armor and bruised muscle. The wound at my side—where the merc’s knife found home—isn’t bleeding anymore, but it pulses hot, angry. Like my body’s reminding me I should be dead. Again.

Each footfall crunches glass, bone, or both. The city doesn’t feel like it’s sleeping—it feels like it’s waiting. Holding its breath, daring us to breathe first. Ash rides the wind in lazy spirals, coating everything in shades of gray. Even Alice.

She walks beside me, boots silent on the ruined asphalt, eyes constantly scanning. Her gait’s tighter than usual, tension coiled in her shoulders, like she’s bracing for something that hasn’t shown up yet. Not yet. But it will. This place always delivers.

“You’re limping,” she says without looking at me.

“Observant,” I grunt.

We keep walking. She says nothing more for a long stretch. The wound throbs. My vision blurs once. I blink it away.

Then she stops.

“Let me carry it,” she says, turning to face me, chin lifted. Not pleading. Commanding, almost.

I snort. “Yeah, sure. After I grow wings and join the choir of the twelve.”

“Krall—”

“No.”

I don’t shout. Don’t growl. Just that one word. Solid. Final. She doesn’t argue again, but the frown stays.

She doesn’t get it. Hell, maybe she does, and that’s worse.

It’s not just about pride. I’m not trying to out-macho her, prove my scales are thicker. It’s the weight of that case. It’s not heavy—not really. Not physically. But itmeanssomething. For the first time since Lakka bled out in my arms, I’m carrying something that might actually keep someone alive. Something that isn’t a weapon, a bomb, a death sentence. That case means a kid might breathe tomorrow. It means I’m not just good at killing.

I’m useful for something else.

And gods help me, I need that more than she’ll ever understand.

The outskirts of Tanuki stretch ahead like the corpse of a dream someone forgot to bury. Buildings sag inward like they’re ashamed to still be standing. Charred storefronts lean on each other for balance. One used to sell flowers, maybe. There’s a rusted sign shaped like a petal, bent in half and soot-streaked.

Alice slows as we approach the junction ahead. The kind of place ambushes breed—three corners, half-blind sightlines, debris thick enough to hide a squad of mercs or worse.

“We should cut around,” she murmurs.

I shake my head. “Too much open ground. Straight through.”

She doesn’t argue. That’s something new. We move together now. Not seamlessly—never that—but like two people who’ve learned to bleed in the same rhythm.

The smell hits before we clear the alley. Burning oil. Melted plastic. Stale piss and rot. My stomach tightens. The wound twinges again, and I swear under my breath.

“You need to rest.”

“No, I need to not die.”

“You’re going to pass out if you keep this up.”

“Then catch me when I fall.”