I could wait, turn back, climb into Bren’s bed, steal a few more hours of safety... He’s right, it’s only a matter of time before I get injured, or fall, and the more I cross, the thinner my luck gets. Plus, even if I make it over, there’s still the warded wall and Citadel patrols that could gut me.
A chill coils low in my stomach, winding sharp up my spine. God, why the fuck am I doing this?
Spice and Kael, that’s why. Because if I don’t go now, I’ll miss the traders for another month—no Ash-dried Dragon Scale—and Kael will gut me anyway. Hell of a choice.
The Ravine yawns out in front of me like a dare. “All right,” I murmur as I start walking.“Let’s do this.”
Just a few paces to the right, I find it. The anchor: a half-dead, wind-bent tree clinging to the cliff like it’s too stubborn to fall, and wrapped tightly around its base, weather-worn and fraying: a rope.
My rope.
It stretches out from the tree, straight across the Ravine, taut and narrow like a high-line.
Took forever to get it over there, my Earth Threads are dormant, so I had to rely on Air. Half the time the rope knotted midair or snapped sideways into the Ravine. Wild, twitchy, and about as cooperative as a drunk snake. But I kept at it. Throw after throw, day after day, until one morning it finally caught on a rock outcrop across the gap—and held.
Most wouldn’t give it a second glance, hell, most wouldn’t even see it. But that’s the brilliance of it. It’s so stupid, it’s genius. No one expects the dumb play. And that’s why it works. That’s why it’s mine.
Even if the Citadel did find it, they wouldn’t give a shit. Why would they? Outerlanders don’t have magic, or at least, we’re not supposed to and the Ravine’s just a deterrent. A fucking deepone, but still. The real bastard—the thing no one would be stupid enough to try and breach—is the warded wall on the other side. Ancient magic etched into the stone. Protective spells carved so deep they nearly killed me the first time I even got close. That took meyearsto chip away at, one layer at a time.
A breeze cools across my face as I crouch low, digging through my pack. Fingers brush waxed cloth, a flask, rustling paper, then close around the hook. Bren made it for me years ago. Ugly as sin, but it holds. Every time.
His hands aretrulymasterful.
Heat flushes up my neck, but I clear my throat, ignoring the memory of last night, and slip the iron hook through the stitched loop at my waist before snapping it onto the rope with a satisfying click. I give it a firm tug—it holds. Good. One less thing to worry about killing me today.
Chest rising fast, pressure already building behind my ribs, I take a breath and edge forward, boots scuffing loose grit, toward the drop. The Ravine stretches wide and open beneath me, a straight plunge into mist and stone.
Another deep breath.
Then I step off.
For a heartbeat, my legs dangle into the void, the rope and hook the only thing keeping the Ravine from swallowing me whole.
I look down.Mistake. A wave of vertigo punches through me like a boulder slamming into my chest. Holding the rope tighter, white-knuckled, breath sawing in and out, a familiar jolt slides up my spine.
It’s stupid, it’s not the fall or the death I fear—it’s theheight.
It could be one metre or a hundred, doesn’t matter. My stupid, primal brain always overreacts to the empty space beneath me. I’ve trespassed into three restricted zones this weekalone. Butthis? This is what gets to me? It’s not even rational, this fear of heights—not like my fear of fire—but still it owns me.
And Ihateit.
Breath comes too fast, my heart rate spikes, but I manage to hook my legs around the rope, locking into place with practiced ease and fixing my gaze upward. Back to the rope, back to my anchor—not the drop.Neverthe drop.
Teeth clenched, I wait for the rhythm in my chest to settle. Okay. We’re fine. It’sfine.
I can do this. Idothis.
Just as long as I keep looking up.
Hand over hand, foot by foot, I start moving across the line, the iron clasp Bren made shifting with me. My jaw stays tight, stomach clenched as the rope shudders with every shift of my weight, taut and trembling above me like it knows how badly I hate this.
Wind punches through the Ravine, hard enough to shove the rope sideways. My body swings with it, a sickening arc over open air. Instinct snaps through me—I clamp every muscle tight.
Fucking Innerlanders.They don’t have to hang upside down like this; they’ve got a bloody bridge they can just walk across. But it’s way too guarded for me to even think about trying that way. So I’m stuck with this.
Just as my palms start to sweat and my thighs sting, I catch a glimpse of the other side. Almost there. Just a few feet more, don’t look down,idiot, just keep moving.
Clasp—click.
