Finally, the tunnel began to widen. A welcome breeze brushed Araya’s face, a breath of freedom after the suffocating darkness. She gulped in the clean air, picking up her pace until Loren threw out an arm to keep her from passing him.
“Do you have any idea where we are? What’s out there?” He asked.
“Not a sewer,” Araya said, shoving at his arm. “That’s good enough for me.”
Loren shook his head at her, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “Put your hood up,” he ordered, pulling his own.
“Make me,” Araya hissed. She expected him to compel her again, bracing for the surge of magic to twist her to his will. But instead, Loren just reached out and tugged the hood up over her hair.
“I’d prefer not to,” he said, checking the clasp under her chin. “I just don’t want us to be killed as soon as we step out of here.” He turned before she could answer, leading them towards the source of that breeze.
The air changed first—the breeze, cool and sharp against her sweat-dampened skin as it carried away the suffocating dampness of the tunnels. The walls fell away around them, giving way to the cracked cobblestones and sagging buildings of an unfamiliar fae slum.
Araya looked around frantically, searching desperately for anything she recognized. But it wasn’t until she spotted the black towers of the Aetherium looming in the distance that she put it together.
They had to be in Farhallow—the other fae district outside the walls. Gods, they were on the other side of the city. She hadn’t realized they’d gone so far, but at least now she could find her way back.
All she had to do was get away.
But before she could even think about a plan, a hooded shadow separated itself from the crumbling wall, dipping its head at them.
“Vira’thal,” a male voice said, low and even. “This way—hurry.”
Loren followed without hesitation, leaving Araya no choice but to trail behind, her heart pounding against her ribs as their guide led them deeper into the maze of crumbling buildings.
Whoever he was, he knew exactly where he was going, leading them into one of the dilapidated ruins. Araya braced herself for thefloor to give way under her feet as Loren dragged her after him, but the structure was surprisingly solid.
“Welcome,” the man said once they were safely under cover. He thrust back his hood, revealing short auburn hair and warm amber eyes that spoke to some fae ancestry. “Congratulations on making it this far. We have food and fresh clothes, so you can both clean up a bit and rest before we leave?—”
“Thorne?” Loren interrupted, his voice hoarse as he threw back his hood.
“By the Goddess…” Thorne stared at Loren, his expression splintered and raw. “Loren?—”
Loren stiffened, grabbing the male by the arm as he started to drop to his knees. Sharp words followed—not in Common, but in Valenya. And then Loren was moving, dragging the other male into a fierce, crushing embrace, tears streaking both their faces.
Araya took a step back, shocked when she was actually able to. The compulsion tugging at her was a fraying thread—one she might actually break if she tried. She gathered herself, tensing to run?—
But then Loren and the male broke apart. Araya froze under Loren’s bright green stare as he cast a sidelong glance her way, saying something under his breath in Valenya.
The other male nodded, turning to her. “We owe you a debt,” he said softly. “I’m sure you’re exhausted. We can have you out of the city tonight?—”
“That’s not necessary.” Araya shoved her hood back, lifting her chin as Thorne’s eyes widened at the sight of her clipped ears and bruises. “Wherever you’re going, I’m not coming with you.”
“You are.” Loren’s expression darkened, his voice like iron. “Even if I have to drag you.”
Araya glared at him, clenching her teeth on the venomous words she wanted to spit. He glared back, the silence stretching between them brittle and heavy.
“Well,” Thorne said. “There’s clearly a story here.” His tone was easy, but his eyes were sharp as they raked over her, assessing. “Come inside. Get cleaned up, eat something. Then we’ll talk about what comes next.”
Thorne ledthem deeper into the dilapidated building, guiding them past piles of debris carefully arranged to make this place seem abandoned. Araya glared at Loren’s back, her irritation simmering as he conversed with their rescuer in fluid Valenya. At one point, he laughed—a rich, genuine sound completely unlike anything she’d ever heard from him before, making her wish she could see his face.
Finally, Thorne pushed open a thick wooden door. Light poured into the corridor, spilling warmth and soft voices into the dingy hall along with the rich, savory smell of cooking meat. Araya’s mouth watered, her stomach cramping with hunger. She hadn’t eaten since…she couldn’t even remember.
“Look what I found waiting at the other end of the guide spell,” Thorne said, giving Loren a shove into the room. “Not what I was expecting tonight, that’s for sure. Serafina outdid herself this time.”
The two people in the room looked up from the map they’d been studying, the woman sucking in a sharp breath as her eyes landed on Loren. She rose quickly, but her companion moved faster—crossing the room in three long strides and pulling Loren into a fierce, familiar embrace.
Araya froze, staring as the man from the Crust & Kettle—Serafina’s Finn—embraced Loren like a brother. Her pulse roared in her ears, every detail taking on new weight as she scanned the room, taking in the worn armchairs, the fire crackling in the hearth, the map spread across the table. This wasn’t just a sanctuary—it was a base.
