She sprinted toward him, her pulse hammering in her ears, but a pair of soldiers locked in vicious combat blocked her way. She pressed against the writhing wall of bodies, forcing herself through just as one of them crumpled to the ground, a spray of blood spattering her boots.
The copper tang filled her lungs.
Keep going. Just keep going.
Her gaze locked on Osin—still untouched amid the chaos. Shadows coiled and twisted around him, a living shroud that mocked the bloodshed at his feet.
Her grip tightened on the Wound of Light, its hilt warm against her palm. Her lips curled as she stepped forward, gaze narrowing.
Then a figure moved into her path.
Her breath stalled.
Ivan.
Chapter 61
Blood and steel and sweat—her eyes took him in before she could stop them, before sense or fear could intervene.
Ivan stood there battered and broken-looking, his armor streaked with blood that wasn’t all his. A fresh cut split the skin at his temple, red slipping down the hard line of his jaw, and she hated how the sight of it made something in her chest ache instead of recoil. There was a softness to his mouth that didn’t belong on a man like him—a quiet, brooding curve that twisted her stomach and made her furious with herself for seeing it. Forfeelingit. Even now. Even here. In the middle of all this ruin, she still found him beautiful.
Haunting coldness and terrible beauty all at once.
His eyes held hers and the chaos of the Pit dissolved. Without a word, he lifted his hand, summoning a dome of fire that encased them. The sounds of clashing steel, screams, and roaringDraothwere silenced in an instant—shrinking to him, to the blood-soaked ground between them.
The abrupt stillness made her ears ring. It was the same barrier they’d created together back when he’d first taught her to pull on theDraothCara—a shared thread, one that had once felt safe.
Elara’s teeth ground together as she watched the flames, burning with a power that wasn’t his to wield. Her gaze snapped back to his, her pulse a dark thrum beneath her skin.
“Did you know?” she demanded, her voice striking like a crack of thunder. The furious, hurt, broken pieces of her heart screamed, begging for justice, for truth, for something real and untainted.
His eyes shifted, a fleeting glimmer of vulnerability breaking through before vanishing. She saw the gears turning behind his expression, calculating, weighing, searching for the best response. Every secret, every veiled truth, every shadow he kept hidden—it was all there, flashing in his gaze.
“I didn’t know it was him.”
Elara's blood roared in her ears as she forced the words past bared teeth, “But did you know?"
His mouth moved, and her heart broke and mended, and shattered anew with that single, whispered “Yes.”
A guttural snarl tore from her as she lunged, blade flashing. He sidestepped, leaving her strike to cut empty air.
She wheeled on him, fury tightening her grip.
“Fight back!” she snapped, her voice breaking as she swung again. He didn’t. He only raised an arm to block her.
“No.”
With a scream, she charged, driving the dagger toward his chest. His hand closed around her wrist mid-strike. They ended up inches apart, her chest heaving, his face close enough for her to catch the strain in his eyes—the regret woven through it.
For a split second, something flickered. She felt it—the unmistakable thread of his presence. He brushed her mind, tentative. Her lips curled, and she wrenched her wrist free.
“Let me out."
“I can’t.”
She flinched, her mind spinning back to another moment—to his whispered confession in the dark. The first time they’d almost kissed.
I can’t.
