Page 33 of Fifth (Intergalactic Warriors #5)

HANNAH’S STOMACH lurched. Locus’s hand tightened on hers, steadying with a squeeze.

“Let him talk,” he said. “It makes him careless.”

Light bloomed ahead and they slid into a culvert and crouched under vines. The creek ran black in a narrow channel. Voices moved above on the road, searching the ditch. None lookeddown.

Locus tapped her wrist and pointed downstream. She nodded. They ran crouched along the shadow line. The culvert ended in a five-foot drop. He hopped down and turned, hands up. “Jump.”

“I can climb,” she protested.

“Jump. Now.”

She jumped. His hands caught her waist and lifted her as if she weighed nothing. Instinct made her clutch his shoulders, his skin hot and slick beneath her fingers. He lowered her unhurriedly until her feet touched ground, steady as stone. For a moment he didn’t letgo.

“I need you alive,” he said, his voice edged with something more than command.

“I plan on it.” Her reply came steady, her gaze locked tohis.

“Good.” He lingered a heartbeat too long before stepping back, and when he did, the sudden rush of cold between them seemed sharper than wire tearingskin.

Shots cracked behind. The men had found the culvert. Aflare screamed up and burst, washing the channel in harsh silver. Locus pulled her with him and they lunged for deeper shadows.

The forest inhaled them. Trees rose older and straighter here, their trunks like pillars. Leaf litter softened underfoot, damp earth drawing smoke away. The roar of the crowd thinned, giving way to the indifferent sounds of thewild.

Her body moved past burn into rhythm, that place where she would keep going until she dropped. Locus caught her when she stumbled. Then he let her set the pace, adjusting by inches when her steps shortened. He didn’t ask if she could keep up. He expected it. She rose to meet that expectation.

They topped a high ridge. Below, floodlights cut a long swath. Men stood in a half circle with rifles and bats, grinning like bullies with bigger toys. Beyond them, the fence rose high with razor wire curled like a crown. The gate stood wide. Atrap dressed as a welcome.

“They want us to run for that,” she said, heart hammering at the obvious trap. The gate gaped like a dare, the men below waiting for them to make a mistake.

“Affirmative.” His voice carried no doubt, only assessment.

“We can’t.” She couldn’t keep the edge of fear from her tone. Her mind raced with the image of rifles snapping up, of being annihilated before they reached the fence.

“No. Not yet.” He pointed left to where the floodlit arc thinned. “There.”

She squinted, anxious to see what he already did, but the night held only dark. Anxiety twisted in her gut. “I don’t see anything.”

“You will,” he said, steady as bedrock. “Follow me.” The certainty in his tone made her chest tighten—part fear, part fierce, delicious trust.

He belly-crawled through oak leaves that crackled in her ears but carried nowhere. She pressed flat, damp leaves cold against her ribs. Atwig snagged her halter. She eased it free, breath catching in her chest.

They reached the edge of the light. Dark deepened where the fence jogged around stone. There, asluice of stacked rock ran under the fence where runoff had cut a path. Razor wire sagged into a loose, ugly snarl.

“We can’t fit,” she breathed, panic tightening her throat. The jagged wire loomed inches from her skin, and the thought of forcing her body through made her stomach clench.

“We will,” he said, voice calm as stone. “I will push the wire and you will slide. Iwill follow.” His certainty wrapped around her like armor, but the image of steel teeth catching her flesh made her tremble.

“There are men thirty yards away,” she whispered, every part of her screaming that they would be seen, dragged back, caged again.

“They are watching the gate. They are looking for movement. We will be stone.” His words sank into her chest, and though fear still coiled in her gut, she clung to the unshakable promise in histone.

He eased down into the cut and pressed his palm to the wire. It shifted with a hiss. He bit off a grunt as a barb caught skin. He didn’t pull back. He set his shoulder and forced just enough space.

“Now,” he said.

She flattened and slid. Barbs scraped her shoulder, then hip. Fabric tore and a line of fire scored her thigh. She didn’t cry out. Cold stone pressed her cheek. She pushed with her toes and wriggled through. The air felt wrong, as if she’d crossed a line that shouldn’t exist.

“Clear,” she whispered.

She watched as Locus forced his body through, the wire biting deep across his back. She winced at the flash of pain she imagined tearing through him, stunned at how he gave nothing away—not a sound, not a pause. It was as if the fence itself demanded a price he was too proud to pay aloud.

He dropped into a crouch beside her, close enough that his heat pressed into her side.

His arm came up, palm firm across her mouth.

Her pulse thundered against it as a floodlight swept by, white glare searing the stone.

She held her breath, heart pounding like it might give them away.

Only when the beam drifted on and settled back at the gate did he ease his hand away, leaving her shaken, her body tight with fear and the strange relief of having him sonear.

“You’re bleeding,” she whispered when his hand fell, her stomach twisting at the dark wetness across hisback. “Your back. Again.”

“Affirmative.” His answer was clipped, as if acknowledging it made itreal.

“It looks bad.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them. Her throat tightened. The thought of him falling was more terrifying than the hunters.

“It is not.” His calm denial only sharpened her frustration. Did he truly believe it, or was he just refusing to admit weakness?

“You always say that.” Her chest ached with the urge to shake him, to demand he stop acting like pain was nothing.

“It is always true.” He looked at her once, steady, as if willing her to accept the vow behind the words.

“You forget. I am not human. I have been trained to experience pain differently.” And against her will, she experienced a shiver of belief, mingled with fear that one day it might not be true atall.

She wanted to argue, but not with men so close. Her body shook and her hands wouldn’t unclench as fast as her brain told them. Locus stepped in front of her, slid both hands around her face. Thumbs braced at her jaw, eyes steady and close.

“Look at me,” hesaid.

Her breath hitched. She wanted to close her eyes, to let the fear take her, but his voice anchored her.”I am,” she whispered, forcing her gaze up. His eyes caught hers, steady, unflinching, and something in her chest steadiedtoo.

“Good. You are not shaking from fear. You are shaking because your body is full of fight and there is nowhere to put it.” His words pressed into her, and she realized he saw straight through the tremors that made herweak.

Ugly laughter broke from her throat, half-relief, half-defiance. “That’s reassuring.” The truth was, she clung to his certainty like a lifeline.

“It is.” His answer came calm, solid, and she let it roll through her, willing her hands to stop shaking.

A cry rose behind them, warped and ugly, then cut short as if swallowed.

Hannah’s stomach flipped. She knew that sound—Skinners.

The clash of men, metal, and monsters carried on the air like a warning.

Her skin prickled, every nerve telling her they weren’t free yet, that death was still huntingthem.

“They’ll keep coming,” she said, dread curling in her stomach. No matter how far they ran, she could feel the stress of boots and eyes chasingthem.

“Affirmative. Until we make them stop.” His certainty sounded unshakable, but her chest tightened with doubt. How could they stop somany?

“How?” The word slipped out sharper than she meant, edged withfear.

“We will break their will. Or the headman will call them back when the odds change.”

“When do the odds change?” Her thoughts raced, counting wounds on his back, her own shaking hands. It seemed impossible.

“They already are.” His mouth tightened. “He is angry.”

She blinked at him, confused and impatient for answers. Angry? How could he pick up onthat?

“How do you know?” she asked.

“He is talking too much.” His steady answer only made her skin prickle, and she realized he was reading the headman’s voice like a weapon, atell that she would have missed withouthim.

The loudspeaker cracked. “Daybreak bounty,” the headman sang. “Fifty thousand if you deliver the girl alive for a private show at dawn.”

Her blood went cold.

Locus’s face hardened to stone. “No,” he said, and the word traveled through her like avow.

“You can’t promise that.” Her chest clenched as the words left her. Promises were fragile things, and in this place, they were like lies waiting to break. The thought of him swearing something he couldn’t keep filled her with equal parts fear and longing.

“I can. And I will.” His reply landed with the force of a promise etched in fire. She wanted to argue, to demand how he could be so sure when everything screamed impossible, but some buried part of her wanted— needed —to believehim.

They reached the top of the ridge as the sky washed gray. From there she saw the camp beyond the fence, fever-bright with lights and smoke. Men moved around a command post. The loudspeaker crackled with the headman’s morning voice, ugly and cheerful.

She turned back to Locus. Blood darkened his back. Wire wounds had clotted, not closed. She touched torn skin with her fingertips.

“You need a med unit.” The words came out sharper than she intended. Her stomach turned at the sight of blood streaking his back, each wound a reminder of how much he’d already endured forher.

“Affirmative. Iwill have one after you are safe.” His calm dismissal only twisted the knot inside her tighter. How could he think of her safety when his own body was tornopen?