"West stair's clear," Renan says, steering me with his presence more than his touch. "We've got maybe four minutes before Coin figures out what happened. Five if they're as stupid as they look."
"They're stupider."
"Bold assumption."
"His guards tried to fight." I adjust Iowyn's weight, freeing one arm to gesture vaguely behind us. "They saw me. They knew what I was. They tried anyway." A sound escapes me—not quite a laugh, too sharp at the edges. "I saw eleven threads in that hallway. Eleven different lies. One of them was telling himself I wasn't really there. That's optimism. That's the kind of thinking that gets a man's spine removed through his stomach."
Renan's eyebrow lifts. "Did you remove his spine through his stomach?"
"No. I was carrying her. Had to improvise."
"How'd he die?"
"Wall. Face. Repeatedly."
"Classic."
The service stairwell opens ahead—narrow, stone steps spiraling down into darkness. I take the turn without slowing and Iowyn's weight shifts, her head rolling, and the scent hits me before I can brace for it. Blood and sweat and fear and underneath all of it, underneath the violence and the terror, something that isn't a lie. Something that makes the constant grinding noise in my skull go soft and still.
I want to bury my face in her hair and just breathe. Rub myself against her until her scent is the only thing left on my skin. My cock hardens against my thigh and I ignore it because there's nothing else to do.
She's unconscious and injured and my body wants her anyway.
That's the truth of it.
Crude.
Honest.
Mine.
"You're doing that thing," Renan says from behind me.
"What thing."
"The thing where you go quiet and I have to guess whether you're plotting murder or having a stroke."
"Murder."
"Good. Strokes are predictable."
"Renan."
"What."
"If anyone looks at her too long when we get back—"
"I'll handle it."
"I mean anyone. Staff. Guards. The fucking healer if their eyes linger—"
"Koshin." His voice shifts. Darker. Amused. "I know. You think I don't know? You've been holding her the same way you hold that bone-blade. Like someone might try to take her. Like you'd kill everyone in the room if they reached for her."
I stop walking.
The stairwell goes silent around us. Just her breathing. Just my heartbeat. Just the water dripping somewhere far below.
"I would," I say. Not a threat. A fact. "I would kill everyone in the room."
