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My eyes lock with Zanyar’s, and the silence stretches like an endless void.

I’ve never seen him look at me with such piercing intensity. His green eyes, usually glacial and remote, sweep over me now, taking in every bruise, every wound, and every hint of blood on my face and body.

I am trapped in his gaze, as always, captivated by his sheer presence.

Even the lingering anxiety from the trial can’t quell the ridiculous, insistent sink in my stomach whenever he is near.

My mind goes utterly blank, basic functions like breathing momentarily forgotten.

We stand still, locked in a silent, tense stalemate.

Then, he takes a deliberate step forward and then another.

The delicate spell of the moment shatters instantly. With each measured pace that brings him closer, I instinctively recoil as a cold, sharp fear floods my gut. Another step back, and my back hits the cold stone wall as Zanyar closes in.

Is this it, then?

The inevitable confrontation? The brutal price for my defiance? Now, it is here at last.

My heart pounds as a chilling certainty takes root in my gut—if he wants my coins, they’re as good as his. He has the kind of power that can end me effortlessly. The idea of even attempting to attack him or play a trick, like I did with the Myrans, feels absurd .

Unlike Kortyz, unlike any other contender, Zanyar is not easily deceived. He has always gotten what he wanted, and this wouldn’t be any different.

Zanyar moves closer until he is only inches away, his gaze fixed on me with a silent, unreadable assessment. Now, I’m trapped between the hard wall and the hard line of Zanyar’s body. The panic I feel inside makes my heart thunder so loudly against my chest that I am sure he can hear it.

My mind searches for an answer, a way out of this impossible situation, as our eyes lock in a long, silent battle.

Then, Zanyar reaches out… for… my face.

The action is so utterly unexpected, so jarringly out of character, it nearly stops my heart. His touch is surprisingly gentle, brushing against my cheek, his thumb tracing a smear of blood. The contact sends a shiver through me that resonates deep in my core.

His fingers linger, and the pads of his thumb and forefinger lightly graze my skin. His eyes, those green depths that usually hold nothing but cold calculation, are now focused on the bruise that mars my cheek.

A storm of untamed anger brews behind his eyes. What’s most unsettling is that this rage isn’t directed at me. Instead, it acknowledges the violence I’ve endured and, strangely enough, feels almost… protective .

“Did he do this to you?” Zanyar’s voice is a low rumble, holding a dangerous edge as he gestures toward Kortyz’s inert form.

Raising my chin defiantly, I meet his gaze. “Aye. I did worse to him. He deserved every bit of it,” I say, determined not to let him see how much it hurt. Or how confused I am by his touch or the protective anger in his eyes.

“Then why heal him?” he rasps as his tender touch vanishes, and a steely glint enters his green eyes.

My mind spins, searching for an explanation, a way to deflect his piercing gaze. “It’s a ruse. I need allies, not a reputation for ruthlessness.”

It is a hollow lie, even to my own ears. Zanyar isn’t a fool. His doubtful gaze bores into mine with an intensity that scrapes at the raw nerves exposed by my recent ordeal.

He’s dissecting me. He’s judging me .

That thought ignites a fire in me, a sudden rebellion against the very same judgments that had choked the life out of me for so long. This time, the cowering girl who flinched at every harsh word and every judgmental glance in Firelands is gone. I’ve killed her.

I tilt my chin up, closing the distance between us until my face is inches from his. The heat of his breath, sharp and clean, mingles with the metallic tang of blood that clings to my face.

“What is it that you see when you look at me like that?” I spit, the words laced with a venom I didn’t know I possessed.

“Do you find me lacking? Weak? Not a true Ahira ? Content to crush the wounded beneath my heel? Does this solidify your precious opinion that I’m unfit for Firelands or this damned competition? ”

The words pour out, a torrent of pent-up frustration that has simmered in me for a lifetime.

“I want to join Martysh because it’s a place where I don’t need to fret over the whispers and judgments of self-righteous people like you!

So if you want my coins,” I continue, inching closer, keeping my eyes locked on his, “to punish me for my insolence, for daring to want to be free of your kind,” I pause, the words hanging in the air like a challenge, “you’ll have to kill me first.”

We are impossibly close, our bodies nearly touching, the space between us thrumming with a volatile air that crackles like a campfire.

I can feel the heat radiating from him, the intensity of his gaze burning into me.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink—just stands there, his eyes locked on mine, as a silent storm gathers in their depths.

A muscle in his jaw clenches and unclenches, the only outward sign of the emotions threatening to erupt. I hold my breath, bracing myself for the explosion, for the inevitable backlash to my defiance. But instead, his gaze shifts, dropping to… my lips, and there… it stays.

The movement is subtle, but it sends a wave of awareness through me. Suddenly, the realization of how close we are hits me, and the heat of my anger feels like something else entirely. My heart, already pounding from the confrontation, falters, then resumes it’s chaotic gallop with a new rhythm .

A jolt flashes through me, making my skin tingle and burn as I shift, pressing my palm against the wall to steady myself. The air between us suddenly takes on a new, thick intimacy, punctuated by the rasp of my rapid breathing and, unexpectedly, the heavy, uneven breaths of his.

His eyes linger on my lips for a heartbeat, two, an eternity.

I stand frozen, breathing hard, unable to tear my own gaze away.

The heat in his gaze makes me all too aware of how easily our bodies can connect if either of us chooses to close the distance.

I can count every speck of gold across his beautiful green eyes.

And suddenly, I realize that I’ve never seen this color on anyone else. This shade of gold-flecked emerald.

The silence stretches so deep that I can hear how wildly my heart beats. I’m unsure of what will happen next, of what I want to happen next.

Unbidden, as if guided by a will separate from my own, my tongue chooses to wet my suddenly dry lips. Zanyar’s eyes darken with a subtle dilation that sends another jolt of raw, erratic nerves through my body.

He leans in slightly, and the space between us evaporates, close enough that our breaths become a single current. My mind empties; there’s only the startling sensation of his breath warming my lips…

“Stay away from her!”

A guttural roar rips through the silence of the cellar. Startled, I jump, my eyes flying to the door to see Darian framed in the doorway. His eyes dart from the prone Kortyz to me, covered in blood, before settling on Zanyar’s back with a burning intensity.

“Step away from her.” His voice is like a flash of lightning.

Zanyar, however, remains unfazed. He doesn’t even turn to him. His focus is still solely on me. His eyes narrow a fraction, and a muscle in his jaw ticks.

Darian’s roar echoes again as he lunges forward, his hand attached to the hilt of a massive broadsword. “I said, stay away!” The veins in his neck are bulging with barely contained rage.

“Darian, it’s all right,” I cut in, my voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in my limbs. I slip out of the space between Zanyar and the wall, filled with a strange sorrow that I don’t quite understand .

His gaze, intense and dark, follows me, but he remains rooted in the spot like a statue carved from cold stone.

“Come here,” Darian says, extending a hand.

My eyes flicker back to Zanyar. His gaze burns a hole through me, and a spark of something primal is still lurking beneath the surface. And for a fleeting moment, I… hesitate.

Should I go?

The sudden urge to stay by his side, to delve deeper into the moment that passed between us, is utterly unnerving.

What are you doing? Are you crazy?

The weight of the situation crashes back instantly.

With a deep breath, I tear my gaze away from Zanyar and move toward Darian, who pulls me protectively behind him.

The familiar scent of leather and tree trunk, his scent, envelops me like a comforting presence.

Far different from the volatile, wild moment I’d just shared with Zanyar.

“Did he hurt you?” Darian growls.

I glance down at my blood-stained form. “No. This is Kortyz’s blood. Darian, we need to move. The night is wearing thin.”

I pull on his tunic, and the tension in the room stifles. Darian’s face hardens as he looks at Kortyz, but he quickly masks his anger. With a final icy glare at Zanyar’s back, he grips my left arm and leads me out of the cellar.

“Jamshahis are in these halls. Four of them.”

Without pausing, he pulls me along as the hallway stretches endlessly.

Every cellar we pass mirrors the one I woke up in.

It looks like we are running beneath the very bowels of the arena.

We make several turns in the hallway as a faint, diffused light filters through cracks high up in the ceiling.

When we reach a spiral staircase, Darian comes to a sudden halt, grabs my arms, and turns me to face him.

“Are you hurt?” he questions, his dark blue eyes searching my face and body.

A grimace contorts my face as his grip tightens on my injured arm and the throbbing pain in my shoulder spikes. Darian releases his hold at once .

“Nine hells, is your shoulder broken?”

“I’ll manage,” I grit out, fighting back a wince.