59

Thomas

O ne by one, the brush gave way to frozen mud, then to stones, then to the slick banks of the Rába. The water was darker up close—thicker, deeper somehow—but it didn’t roar. It didn’t resist. It just waited.

The first step into the Rába stole my breath.

It was like stepping into a grave, the water clutching at my legs with a frozen grip that seemed to whisper, “You don’t belong here.” It crawled up my thighs as I moved forward, biting deep through layers of fabric until there was no more distinction between flesh and icy ache. The current wasn’t strong, but it wasn’t still either. It pushed and nudged, like it wanted us to turn back.

But we didn’t.

We moved in a line.

Sparrow held Eszter’s hand. Egret supported me, bracing my good arm. Will trudged by Farkas’s side, the stubborn man refusing to reach out, both arms wrapped around his precious package.

The moon peeked through a crack in the clouds just long enough to paint the water silver, then disappeared again, as if ashamed to bear witness.

A third of the way across, the river rose to my waist. My coat dragged, soaked and heavy. My wound burned beneath the chill, each movement a punishment.

We were halfway across when the world shattered.

I froze.

The others didn’t notice, still pushing forward.

I raised a fist.

A voice drifted through the dark.

Speaking Russian.

It wasn’t yelling. It wasn’t close. But it felt wrong.

It was casual, conversational, too relaxed for a man on watch.

Which meant the speaker didn’t think anyone was here.

Yet.

I moved forward again, slower now, the cold of the river biting into my flesh like the business end of a sword.

Will glanced at me but followed my lead.

The current wasn’t strong, but it didn’t have to be. One misstep, one fall, and we’d be flailing—and making far too much noise. That couldn’t happen, not with patrols nearby and flashlights sweeping the banks.

And there they were.

First one, then another.

Yellowish cones of light cutting across the shoreline, arcing lazily at first, almost bored.

A third joined them. It was brighter, closer.

We sank lower.

The river hit my ribs.

My injured arm throbbed, the bandage under my coat soaked and heavy. I tried not to wince, tried not to shiver.

A beam passed over us.

I held my breath.

The light missed us by inches, grazing the water to our left and bouncing off a smooth swell in the current. Will ducked, one arm raised to shield Eszter beside him.

The beam moved on.

I exhaled, thinking maybe that was it, maybe they hadn’t seen us.

Another beam passed behind. It was farther now.

Then the first one jerked back.