Five. No, six. Elite hunters by the pattern—synchronized strokes, efficient energy expenditure, the kind of controlled movement that only comes with decades of training. Moving fast. Too fast.
They’re not patrolling. They’re hunting.
“What is it?” Zara keeps her voice low, reading my body language.
“Company.” I pull my hand away from the wall, mind racing through our options. None of them good. “Caspian’s hunters. They’ve been tracking us since the Citadel.”
Her eyes widen. “How long?”
“Long enough.” I scan the tunnel ahead—narrow, few exits, nowhere to hide. Of course they’d wait until we were at our most vulnerable. Classic hunter tactics. Drive the prey into a bottleneck, then strike. “They’re closing fast. Maybe ten minutes.”
“Can we outrun them?”
I almost laugh. “In the water? On their territory? No.” I meet her eyes, and something passes between us—the bond pulsing with understanding, with shared danger. “I didn’t kill you when Caspian ordered it. That makes me a traitor. And you’re still a target.”
“So they’re coming for both of us.”
“Yes.”
She looks at her bound wrists, then back at me. The question she doesn’t ask hangs between us, heavy as the stone above our heads.
If they’re surviving this, she needs her hands.
I know this. Have known it since the moment I felt the hunters’ vibrations. But cutting her bonds means trusting her. Means accepting that we’re not captor and prisoner anymore. Means admitting the bond has already changed everything, whether I’m ready for it or not.
The water whispers again. Closer. Eight minutes, maybe less.
I pull out my knife.
Zara doesn’t flinch as I reach for her wrists. Doesn’t pull away. Just watches me with those amber eyes that see too much and understand too clearly.
Lightning crackles immediately along her freed hands—reflexive, relieved, beautiful. She flexes her fingers, wincing as blood flow returns.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
I don’t respond. Can’t make myself say what I’m thinking: that I should have cut them sooner. That keeping her bound was cowardice dressed as caution. That I’ve been calling her my prisoner when the bond made that a lie the moment we touched.
Instead, I hand her the knife. “You know how to use this?”
Her smile is sharp as the blade. “I’m a diplomat. I’ve eaten dinner with people who wanted me dead. I think I can handle a knife.”
Despite everything, I feel my lips twitch. “Fair point.”
The water vibrations spike. Five minutes.
“We need to move. There’s a reed bed about a quarter mile ahead—thick cover, multiple escape routes. If we’re fast, we can use the terrain to our advantage.” I pause. “Stay close. Don’t get separated. And if things go wrong?—”
“They won’t.” She cuts me off with quiet conviction. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
The bond hums with her certainty, and I realize: she trusts me. Completely. Despite everything I’ve done, every reason she has not to, she trusts me with her life.
It terrifies me how much I don’t want to fail her.
“Then let’s go.”
We run.
The reed bederupts around us like a living maze.
