“That’s his magic arm,” I tell her with a grin, playing into her curiosity. “It gives him powers and makes him stronger than anyone else.”
“Stronger than Daddy?” she asks, turning to look at Ziek—who has just returned with two other men.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Ryder says, raising a teasing eyebrow.
Kalia beams, then darts toward Ziek, leaping into his arms. He catches her easily, spinning her once before setting her on his hip.
The sight is disarming—gentle, unexpected warmth in a place built from fear and shadows. For just a moment, the Hollow feels almost…safe.
***
The pain throbs in my palm, pulsing in time with my heartbeat, and I squeeze my eyes shut to ride it out. Xylar—the artist working on me—moves with as much care as he can manage, but with a makeshift needle carved from Hollow twigs, even gentle hurts.
Ryder barely flinched when he got his done. Now he sits flexing his fingers, clenching and releasing his fist as he studies the fresh mark stamped into his skin. The ink they use is made from crushed beetle blood—Hollow beetles, the kind whose metallic shells shimmer like oil. Their blood doesn’t fade, and in certain light, the tattoos almost glow.
“Will this get me out of the next trial?” I ask, hope lingering on my tongue even as I wince.
“Sadly, no.” He pauses, glancing up at me. “But it may help you get through them.”
A quiet settles between us. All I can hear is the soft scrape of his tool and my own breathing as he fills in the last of the design. The final strokes are slow and deliberate, as if he’s sealing something more than ink into my skin.
“And… done,” Xylar announces, scraping his chair back as he reaches for a small clay jar on the table beside us. The tent is similar to Ziek’s, though the rug beneath my feet belongs to an animal I do not recognise—thick, dark, and oddly patterned.
“This should help with the healing.” He smooths a cool salve over my palm. I flinch, but the relief spreads quickly, the throbbing easing into something dull and manageable.
“Thank you.” I lift my hand, admiring the design. The lines are precise, almost elegant. He really has done a beautiful job.
“You did well,” Xylar says with a small grin. “Less squeamish than the blonde boy.”
“River?” I laugh, and he nods before ducking out of the tent.
Ryder steps closer, eyes drifting to my palm. “I didn’t think you could get any sexier… I was wrong.” He breathes, kissing the design.
Heat blooms in my cheeks, and my fingers lift instinctively toward his shirt—but stop just short of touching him. And then the tent flap rustles, pulling both Ryder and me from the moment. Nala hobbles inside on a pair of crutches fashioned from wood and bark.
“Nala, what are you doing? You’re not supposed to be walking.” I dart to her side, slipping an arm around her and guiding her to the nearest chair.
“I know, I know,” she sighs, easing herself down. “But I was bored, and Ziek said you were in here, so…” Her eyes brighten. “Let me see it.”
She grabs my wrist with surprising eagerness and tilts my palm toward the light.
“Cool, right?” I grin through the lingering sting.
“So cool!” she beams, her whole face lighting up.
“So how’s the leg?” Ryder asks, pushing off the tent wall and strolling over.
“It’s… still there,” she says with a half–laugh. “The medics said I should make a full recovery, but…” Her smile wavers. “I don’t think I can finish the journey with you. I’ll just slow you down.”
My heart sinks. I knew this would be the case, but I didn’t want to believe it.
“Ziek said I can stay here,” she adds quickly, forcing the smile back into place. “Just—come get me when you save the world, okay?”
I glance at Ryder. His expression mirrors mine—sadness wrapped in acceptance.
“You sure you’re going to be okay?” I ask softly, worry crinkling my forehead.
“Don’t worry about me,” she reassures, glancing toward the bustling village outside. “This place is a fortress.” Then her eyes narrow with concern. “Areyougoing to be okay?”
