Caterpillar didn’t answer. Just ran.
The hoofbeats thundered now—so close I could hear the soldiers shouting. So close I could smell the horses. Any second, an arrow would find my back. Any second, Ari would drag us to the queen’s dungeon.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Please. Please. Please.
Caterpillar came to a sudden stop. The sound of stone grinding against stone made me lift my head.
“Put me down.”
He set me on my feet, and I gasped.
We stood before a sheer cliff face—but the rocks had slid open, revealing a hidden entrance. A tall man stood in the gap, silently gesturing for us to come inside.
“Move!” Chester hissed, already slipping through with Darius.
Caterpillar clasped my arm and pulled me through the opening. I stumbled inside just as the first horse burst into the clearing behind us.
The wall slid back into place with a grinding finality.
I sagged against the cool stone, my whole body trembling. Tears burned my eyes.
Hoofbeats thundered past outside—confused shouts, horses whinnying—and then faded into the distance.
We’d made it. Barely.
But when I looked at Darius, pale and still over Chester’s shoulder, I wasn’t sure he would. The thought hit me like a punch to the chest.
The silent man stood a few feet away from us. He reminded me of Robin Hood with his tights, long tunic, and quiver of arrows. He was tall and muscular, and his mouth was set tight. He had dark hair pulled back into a ponytail.
Chester’s grin flickered, dimmer than usual. “Archer, Archer, Archer. We find ourselves in need of Doc. Is he here? Is he there? Is he anywhere?” His golden eyes cut to Darius, limp over his shoulder. “Hatter is... leaking. Rather badly, I’m afraid.”
Back to Hatter. Did these people not know his real name? Or was Darius Acosta buried so deep even his allies had forgotten?
Archer motioned for us to follow. He led us through a narrow cavern, the walls glittering with crystals that caught the torchlight like scattered jewels.
I barely noticed. My eyes kept drifting—to the blood dripping from his side, to how still he was. How much longer could he hold on?
We emerged into a vast chamber—the size of a city block. Stalactites hung overhead like stone teeth, and a waterfall cascaded down the far wall, pooling into a crystal-clear basin below.
If we weren’t being hunted, I might have called it beautiful.
A group of men gathered near a fire pit in the center of the cavern. They looked like something out of a medieval tale—rough clothing, weathered faces, the lean and hungry look of outlaws who'd been fighting too long. Heads turned as we entered. Hands moved to weapons. Then someone spotted Darius, and the tension shifted to alarm.
Makeshift tents and bedrolls dotted the space. Weapons lined the walls—swords, bows, axes. This wasn't just a hideout. It was a war camp.
One man stood apart from the others, issuing orders in a low, commanding voice. He was even taller than Archer, broad-shouldered and muscular, with black hair that curled at hisnape. His face might have been handsome once, but it was hardened now—jaw set, brow furrowed, mouth pressed into a permanent scowl.
He turned as we approached, and I caught my breath.
His eyes. Dark and intense—and strangely familiar, though I couldn’t say why.
“Grump,” Chester murmured beside me, his grin returning. “Leader of our merry band of exiles. Cheerful as a thunderstorm, warm as a winter grave.”
Grump’s scowl deepened as his gaze swept over our ragged group. When his eyes landed on me, something flickered across his face. Confusion? Recognition?
I fought the urge to step back. He reminded me of Angelo—that same cold assessment, like he was calculating whether I was useful or a threat.
No. That was impossible. We’d never met.
