“I was here with Aurora and the Cravens when they launched their attack.” His voice is low, clipped. “These tunnels… theSyndicate tried to use them to wake the Sleeping King. The Circle stopped them.”
I give a nod. “When Iris found her brother. Was this the actual location?”
“Pretty much.” He doesn’t look back. “This general region. I remember the rock formations.”
I drag myself up another boulder, fingers numb against stone, and pause at the top to catch my breath. The forest opens slightly here, revealing a wall of jagged cliffs rising ahead of us. Dark cracks split the rock face, entrances to caves that have seen recent battle.
But something in merecognizesthem.
I press my palm against the stone beneath me. Cold granite bites into my skin, but beneath the chill, there’s a pulse. Faint. Distant. Like a heartbeat buried deep in the earth.
I’ve felt this before.
“I remember this,” I whisper.
Luke glances back, frowning. “From the battle? You weren’t here.”
“From my dreams.” I still feel awkward saying it. “Before I even knew about the Sleeping King. I saw these caverns.”
His expression shutters. “Ancestral memory. Dragons inherit knowledge through bloodlines.”
“Whose memory?” I push to my feet, unsettled. “Why would I rememberthisplace?”
He doesn’t answer. Maybe because he doesn’t know. Or maybe because the answer is something neither of us wants to face yet.
A mechanical whine cuts through the air.
We both freeze.
The sound builds, high-pitched and metallic, growing louder with every second. I scan the sky through the tree cover and spot it: a black shape cutting across the gray dawn, spotlight blazing beneath its belly.
Drone.
Shit!
“Run!” Luke’s hand locks around mine, yanking me forward.
We sprint.
His grip is iron-tight, his pace punishing. I stagger, barely keeping my feet under me as he drags me through the underbrush. Branches whip my face and snag in my hair. The light sweeps through the forest behind us, bright as a false sun, illuminating every trunk and shadow with brutal clarity.
But I don’t pull away from his hand.
Don’t want to.
The contact grounds me, his fingers threaded through mine, his strength pulling me forward when my legs want to give out. It’s not gentle. Not romantic. Just desperate momentum and shared terror.
And yet…
My palm burns where it meets his. My pulse hammers in my wrists, my throat, low in my stomach. Every time he glances back to check I’m still with him, something electric arcs between us.
The cliff wall looms ahead. Fifty meters. Forty.
My lungs scream. My legs feel like they’re made of lead. My ankle is on fire.
The light catches us, painting our backs in white brilliance.
“There!” Luke points toward a jagged crack splitting two massive boulders. Barely wide enough for a person to squeeze through.
