A chill slid down my spine as I realized just how easily Dancing Fire could kill me—if he ever discovered the truth about what I’d done. The darkness inside me. The lies I’d spun. He wasn’t the type to hesitate.
I needed those blasted daggers.
Which meant I had to stay on his good side.
“Balthazar is real,” I said, steadying my voice. “And he’s hunting me. He could destroy us both without lifting a finger.”
I hoped the fear in my words would pierce him. Shake him. But instead, he chuckled.
“You think to scare me?” he said, voice low and mocking. “You’re more foolish than I thought.” His expression shifted into something unreadable—flat and cold. “I know who Balthazar is. I know exactly what he’s capable of. But I won’t help protect you from him.”
I blinked, my chest tightening.
His voice was calm, but his words stung like acid.
“I’ll help you,” he continued, “but not for your sake.”
A tremor of fear stirred deep inside me. I suddenly regretted coming here and hearing the namesZaraandDancing Fire. I had stepped into a land of shadows and grief where my tricks didn’t work, where power shifted like sand underfoot.
Before I could respond, John James lumbered over with a broad, oblivious smile.
“I see you two are getting along nicely,” he said cheerfully.
Dancing Fire and I exchanged a glance—one of silent warning and mutual suspicion. The air between us thickened. Even as JohnJames prattled on, I could feel Dancing Fire’s gaze cutting into me, dissecting me, trying to peel back my layers.
I barely heard a word—until John James said, “According to my contacts, you’ll need to look in England. The 1400s.”
I snapped my attention away from Dancing Fire. “The 1400s?” I echoed, stunned. A strange relief pulsed through me, the intensity of his stare momentarily broken.
“Yes, yes,” John James said with a nod. “A very specific time. A powerful lead.”
But before I could ask more, Dancing Fire’s eyes found mine again—and this time, something passed between us.
Not warmth. Not trust.
But certainty.
A surge of electric tension jolted through me, unmistakable and final.
We would go to England.
When the next full moon rose, we would begin the journey. And whether we liked it or not… our fates were now entwined.
As we trudged through the grime-laced streets of 15th-century England, failure clung to us like soot. Three long years had passed since our journey began—three years of fruitless searching, chasing rumors through cobblestone alleys and across candlelit parchment, interrogating everyone from scholars to beggars. Still, the daggers eluded us.
Dancing Fire’s frustration rolled off him in waves, thick and suffocating. His presence in this foreign land only deepened our struggles. The locals viewed him with suspicion—his dark skin and foreign mannerisms set him apart, turned him into a ghost drifting through a world that refused to see him. They didn’t trust him, and because he was beside me, they didn’t trust me.
I wondered if he was the reason we hadn’t found them. Ifhewere the obstacle.
His gaze, ever-piercing, held me captive day and night. He never looked away for long, never let me breathe. He was always watching, always waiting. The way his brow furrowed when I spoke andhis eyes narrowed when I moved—it was like living under constant interrogation.
It didn’t matter that I’d done nothing wrong. To him, I was already guilty of secrets, lies, and betrayals that had not yet been committed. He never said it aloud, but his silence screamed louder than any accusation.
And slowly, my resentment curdled into something darker.
Who was he to dictate my every move? Who was he to judge me? He poisoned my thoughts, a slow-burning hatred that coiled tighter with each passing day. My head pounded with it—his scrutiny, disdain, arrogant self-righteousness.
There were moments I could think of nothing else but wrapping my hands around his throat and ripping his head clean from his neck.
