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I run until my lungs burn and the edges of my vision flicker with stars. The cold wind whips against my cheeks, tangling my sweat-damp hair, and every labored breath feels like a small victory—at least I’m still breathing. Around me, the others tear across the muddy ground, faces twisted with urgency and fear. We’ve broken free of House Vaerathis. I can barely believe we made it out.

Daeva leads our ragged group. His form glides more than runs, as though the earth simply bends beneath his steps. There’s a lethal grace in him, a quietly contained fury. The black tattoos—or markings, or whatever they are—that coil across his pale skin pulse with faint luminescence under the steel-gray sky. I try not to stare.

At my side, Silas pants with exertion, his grip on my arm tighter than it needs to be, but I don’t pull away. His fingers tremble. “Calla,” he rasps between gulps of air, “we can’t keep…this pace. Not forever.”

I can’t argue. My legs are shaking, threatening to buckle if I push them any further. The other three slaves—Jenna, Ryn, and Cole—huddle behind us, their eyes glazed with exhaustion. They’re gaunt from the years of servitude, and this mad dash has likely stretched them to the brink.

Daeva slows, scanning the horizon. For the first time, I notice the rolling hills to our left and the dense forest rising in the distance to our right—dark pines and craggy spruce, their tops swaying in the stiff wind. There’s a faint path cutting through the tall grass, but it’s less a road and more a game trail.

We’ve already put half a mile between ourselves and the looming walls of House Vaerathis, which stand like some twisted sentinel on the hill behind us. Shouts carry over the wind—distant, but not nearly distant enough. It won’t be long before they send riders. My stomach clenches at the thought of armed elves closing in.

Daeva finally halts at a small outcrop of rock. He turns, eyes raking over us. I collapse onto my knees, fighting the urge to retch from exertion. Jenna groans, dropping beside me to clutch her side. Ryn and Cole drag themselves a few paces away, breathing like wounded animals.

Silas doubles over, hands braced on his thighs, chest heaving. “We can’t… outrun them… if they chase us with beasts and horses,” he gasps, voice raw.

I raise my head. “We need to hide,” I say, in little more than a whisper. There’s no energy left to speak louder.

Daeva’s expression remains composed, but his silver-blue eyes flash with concern—or annoyance. Maybe both. “Then we press on into the forest,” he says quietly. “It’s our best chance.”

Jenna flinches, looking at the dark line of trees warily. “That forest is rumored to be cursed,” she mutters. “Even the dark elves avoid it.”

Silas emits a shaky laugh, as if the notion of a curse is almost comforting after what we’ve endured. “They’ll avoid it less than they’ll avoid capturing us.”

A flicker of determination crosses my mind. “Better the forest than going back,” I say. My voice sounds steadier than I feel.

Without further debate, Daeva sets off across the tall grass. We follow in a huddled knot, each step slow and agonizing now. The ground slopes downward, slick with recent rain, threatening to send us tumbling. The sharp wind carries a tang of wet pine, and the sky overhead is a bleak, pale gray.

Behind us, a horn blares—one long, piercing note that makes my heart clench. It echoes off the hills and sweeps across the open land. I can’t see who sounds it, but I know it’s meant for pursuit.

Jenna whimpers, hugging her arms around herself. Cole and Ryn exchange fearful glances. Silas’s eyes widen, and he clutches my wrist. “They’ve set out.”

I nod, swallowing hard. Fear crackles in the back of my throat. “We have to keep going. We’re almost at the treeline.”

My calves scream with every step, but I force my body forward. We crest a slight ridge, and below us lies the outskirts of the forest—a tangled spread of gnarled trunks and bristling needles. Dark patches of wet earth pool between the trees, and a low mist snakes around the base of the trunks.

Daeva veers toward a spot where the undergrowth is thickest. I catch the faintest whiff of something metallic in the air—magic, perhaps? The memory of how he subdued the guards back in the fortress is still fresh in my mind: how his eyes glowed, how he channeled that chilling darkness.

I don’t have time to dwell on it. We plunge into the treeline, branches scraping my arms, the damp mulch squelching underfoot. For several seconds, we trudge in silence, weaving around ancient trunks. Then Daeva halts abruptly, holding up a hand for us to stop.

We freeze, breathing raggedly. My pulse thrums in my ears. He glances over his shoulder, gaze piercing. “They’ll fan out across the hills,” he murmurs. “But if they have trackers or beasts of their own, they may venture inside.”

“How far do we go?” Cole asks, trying to keep his voice from quivering. He’s older than Silas but smaller, with pinched features etched by years of slave labor.

Daeva turns back to the forest ahead, scanning the gloom. “Far enough that they can’t see us from the perimeter. Then we find shelter.”

None of us argue. We move deeper into the forest, pushing past brambles and sliding down small embankments where moss and muddy water gather. Pine needles cling to my hair, and my clothes soak through at the knees. The chill of the environment seeps into my bones, making me shiver uncontrollably.

At last, we stumble upon a shallow ravine with a collapsed log bridging it. Daeva nods, leading us down into the gully. The sides are steep, but the brush is thick, forming a sort of natural hiding place.

“Rest here,” he says softly.

Gratefully, I sink to the ground against a mossy rock. My heart is pounding so hard I can hardly catch my breath. Silas drops beside me, placing a trembling hand on my shoulder. Neither of us speaks, but the relief in his eyes mirrors mine: we’re alive… for now.

Cole, Jenna, and Ryn gather around, each too exhausted to think about anything but the next breath. A hush settles, broken only by our panting and the distant caw of crows overhead.

He stands guard a few paces away, partially hidden by pine boughs. I watch him, trying to make sense of this strange creature who looks so much like a man—an otherworldly man, but a man nonetheless—and yet wields powers that defy reason. We share an enemy, he said. House Vaerathis. But what else does he share with us, if anything?

A rustle overhead snaps my attention back to the present. A low branch shakes, sending droplets of rainwater plinking onto the leaves below. Instantly, my pulse spikes; I imagine an elven archer perched there, ready to skewer us. But the figure that appears is only a crow, feathers shiny black, tilting its head at us with mild curiosity. My exhale trembles with relief.

Silas forces a tiny smile at the sight. “It’s just a bird.”

“It’s still better company than an elf,” Jenna murmurs. She tries to laugh, but it comes out as a choked cough.

I lean forward, letting my hair fall around my face, inhaling the damp, earthy scent of the forest. My muscles are in knots, and every bruise from House Vaerathis throbs like a fresh wound. But fear is the worst pain of all. Because the truth is, we’re not safe. We won’t be safe for a long time—maybe ever.

I sense movement at my side. Daeva crouches beside me, his presence unsettlingly quiet. Those silver-blue eyes flick over my features. “You need rest,” he says, the words softer than expected.

“And you?” I ask, surprising myself. “You don’t seem tired.”

He offers a half-smile, almost rueful. “I’ve gone centuries without rest. A few more days won’t kill me.”

The statement twists something in my stomach. Centuries. He didn’t say it in jest. A shiver crawls over me that isn’t because of the cold. Who is he truly? He once said House Vaerathis cursed him, or is it something else? Is he immortal? A demon? But demons in Protheka are rumored to look monstrous—horned giants, leathery wings. Yet Daeva is… different.

I swallow my questions, focusing on the immediate threat. “They’ll come looking,” I whisper. “We heard the horn.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “We can’t stay here too long.”

My gaze roams to Silas, who’s huddled with Jenna, Ryn, and Cole. They’re all so worn, skin drawn tight over cheeks, eyes ringed by shadows. Even in desperation, I can’t imagine pushing them onward immediately. “We just need a little time to breathe. Then we’ll figure out how to keep going.”

“Agreed.” Daeva straightens, scanning the ravine’s rim. His stance is poised, muscles coiled like a predator waiting to pounce.

I lower my head onto my folded arms, letting a wave of fatigue roll through me. My eyelids flutter. Maybe if I rest for just a few minutes, I can find the strength to keep moving.

I must drift off because the next thing I remember is Jenna shaking my shoulder, eyes wide with alarm. “Calla,” she whispers urgently, “someone’s coming.”

The forest sounds sharper now: wind creaking through branches, the rustle of pine needles. My heart jolts from slumber to hammering panic. Silas is already on his feet, eyes scanning the ridge above. Cole and Ryn crouch nearby, faces pale.

Daeva stands at the base of the ravine, half hidden by a fallen tree trunk. He gestures sharply for silence. My pulse thrums in my throat as I scramble up onto my knees.

Then I hear it, hoofbeats, faint but unmistakable, clattering over rocky ground. They’re closing in from the direction we came, presumably fanning out along the forest’s edge. My stomach twists. The Vaerathis riders are here.

Daeva signals for us to stay low. I clutch Silas’s arm and press my back against the damp earth of the ravine wall. A few battered ferns partially obscure my silhouette. My breaths come in shallow bursts, each one carrying a silent prayer that we remain unseen.

Up on the ridge, figures flicker between the trees—dark elves in black-and-red riding gear, crossbows slung over their backs. My heart thunders. There are at least three of them, maybe more. One holds a chain leash, at the end of which a hulking hound-like creature strains, its snout sweeping the ground. My blood goes cold at the sight.

Jenna stifles a gasp. I clamp my hand over her mouth, trying to keep her quiet. We exchange terrified glances: the dog is some breed I don’t recognize—sleek, obsidian fur with glowing red eyes. A demon hound? Or something close to it.

The lead rider reins in, surveying the forest. His voice resonates above us. “They can’t have gone far. The tracks lead into the trees here.”

Another rider responds, “Then we spread out. The Overseer wants them alive, or at least able to speak. One of them has secrets Tovel needs to know.” A small pause. “And that demon… She wants him captured or killed.”

Hearing that word—demon—applied to Daeva cements the truth, if there’d been any doubt. Daeva stiffens, eyes narrowed. The dog on the chain barks, an eerie, hollow sound that makes my stomach lurch. It’s smelling us.

I see Daeva clench his jaw. He steps quietly around the log, looking at me with an intensity that says be ready . I realize, with dawning horror, that we might not avoid a confrontation.

The hound’s nose twitches, then it lunges toward the ravine, dragging its handler forward. The elf curses, fighting to keep hold of the chain. “Something’s down there!”

My heart seizes. We have no cover if they come down. The only way out is the way we came, or up the other side, but that would expose us to the archers.

Daeva lifts a hand, dark energy coiling around his fingers. My mind flashes back to the catacombs, how he subdued that guard with terrifying ease. But can he handle multiple armed elves and a demon hound at once?

We’re about to find out.

The lead rider barks a command, urging the group to dismount. Within seconds, three elves and the hound creep toward the ravine’s lip, crossbows ready. The hound whines, sniffing the air frantically.

Jenna trembles so badly I fear she’ll scream. Cole looks ready to bolt. Ryn clutches a broken tree branch, as if it could do any good against a crossbow.

I glance at Silas, and his eyes shine with determination. “We fight or we die,” he mouths, and I nod. My trembling hand gropes at the forest floor for a rock or anything that can serve as a weapon. My fingers close on a fist-sized stone, and I grip it so hard my knuckles ache.

A final shuffle of boots on dirt—then an elf peeks his head over the ridge, crossbow at the ready. His eyes land on me, widening. “Down there!”

He fires immediately, and I shriek, throwing myself sideways. The bolt whistles past my ear, splintering against rock. Chaos erupts as the hound leaps down the slope, snapping its jaws, red eyes fixed on us. Silas hurls himself in front of me, arms raised, but the creature is enormous.

A blur of white hair and black markings slams into the hound: Daeva. He moves faster than I can track, driving a wave of darkness into the beast. The hound howls, momentarily stunned, but not dead. Its eyes flare with fury as it snaps at his arm.

Another crossbow bolt whizzes into the ravine, striking the log near Daeva’s shoulder. Splinters burst into the air. He hisses and unleashes a surge of power that crackles like black lightning along the forest floor. The hound’s legs buckle, foam spraying from its maw as it thrashes.

Then the elves scramble down, swords drawn. My chest tightens as I realize how outnumbered we are. Ryn lunges at one elf with a desperate roar, brandishing his branch. The elf sidesteps easily, delivering a ruthless kick to Ryn’s ribs. He topples with a grunt of pain.

Silas picks up a fallen crossbow bolt and charges another elf, brandishing it like a dagger. It’s a wild move, lacking technique, but the elf is momentarily shocked. Silas manages to scratch the elf’s cheek, drawing blood before he’s knocked aside.

I heft my stone. Adrenaline surges, clearing my head. I dart forward, swinging at the sword-wielding elf before he can strike Ryn again. The stone slams into the side of his helm with a sickening crunch. He staggers, cursing, and whirls on me, blade raised.

Time slows. I see the sword arcing downward—no chance to dodge. I squeeze my eyes shut, expecting agony. But a flash of black intercepts him—Daeva’s arm collides with the elf’s sword, bare-handed, and somehow he deflects it. Sparks dance where metal meets demonic power.

He shoves the elf away with a scowl. The man skids across the muddy ground, boots digging a furrow. The forest echoes with the clamor of steel and panicked yells. The hound tries to stand again, shaking off the dark lightning, its eyes rolling with murderous intent.

Jenna and Cole, both unarmed, back away, attempting to evade the chaos, but one elf notices them. He levels a crossbow at Jenna, eyes narrowed. There’s no time for me to warn her. The bowstring twangs.

She drops with a wail, clutching her shoulder. Blood stains her ragged tunic. Cole kneels, shouting her name. Dread hammers in my chest—I have to help, but I’m practically defenseless.

Daeva sees this, and something cold and merciless flares in his gaze. He raises a hand toward the crossbowman. A surge of black energy crackles from his palm, hitting the elf dead-on. The man screams, voice cutting through the air as the darkness envelops him. I can’t see exactly what happens—there’s a swirl of inky mist, and then the elf collapses, frosted with ice crystals that rapidly melt to water. He does not rise again.

In that moment, the hound lunges at Daeva from behind, jaws aimed at the back of his neck. My breath catches. But Daeva pivots at the last second, driving a knee into the hound’s flank and gripping its fur with inhuman strength. He channels darkness into the beast’s body, and it spasms violently before going limp, eyes rolling back.

Breathing hard, Daeva drops the creature. The second elf tries to rally, but a combination of Silas’s frantic assault and a savage blow from Ryn’s branch knocks him to the ground. I scramble over to Jenna, who’s whimpering in pain, and press a hand against her bleeding shoulder.

“Stay still,” I mutter. My heart is racing, but at least she’s alive. Cole tears a strip of cloth from her tunic to form a makeshift bandage.

Moments later, silence settles in the ravine—broken only by Jenna’s choked sobs and the wet cough from the elf Ryn struck. We stand, battered and breathless, over the carnage: two elves presumably dead, one groaning in the mud, the hound lying motionless.

My limbs shake uncontrollably. I’ve never seen a demon hound, never seen a creature so fearsome taken down like that. And I’ve certainly never seen so many dead elves—by our hands, or more accurately, by Daeva’s.

Daeva’s shoulders rise and fall with each breath. A faint tremor passes through him, as though the exertion has strained even his formidable powers. He steps away from the hound’s corpse, glancing at Jenna. “Can she walk?”

Cole nods vehemently, though worry lines his forehead. “We’ll manage.”

Daeva’s gaze flicks to the slope. “We need to leave. Reinforcements will come.”

I swallow. My mind whirls, trying to process the savage violence I just witnessed. “Where do we go?”

Without hesitation, Daeva points deeper into the forest. “Farther in. We can’t return to open ground now, or we’ll be caught in the next wave of riders.”

Silas helps me lift Jenna. She cries out as we jostle her wounded shoulder, and a fresh wave of guilt washes over me. She made a desperate gamble to escape, and this is her reward—an arrow in the flesh.