My blood thrums in my ears as we slip into its shadow, ready to tear it apart stone by stone if that’s what it takes to bring her back.
All at once, the sky seems to crack open.
A thunderous boom echoes across the grounds, as sharp and sudden as a war drum. I jerk my head up just in time to see the glass windows of the fortress explode in a hail of shimmering shards, like frozen stars flung from the sky.
The squad drops lower by instinct, shields half-raised, but there are no arrows—only the echo of shattering glass and the sharp, startled shouts that follow.
Then a voice carries over the courtyard. Cold, commanding,unmistakable.
“Seal the halls! Find them! I want them alive!”
Torbin. His bark of authority reverberates off the stone, snapping the guards to attention.
Lorne stills beside me, head tilted just slightly, like a wolf catching a scent.
“That him?” he asks under his breath.
I nod, pulse thudding. “That’s him.”
Lorne grins, teeth flashing in the dark. “Good. I can work with that.”
He means his voice magic. I smirk in return. He’ll have what he needs when we breach deeper.
We slip into the fortress through a gap in the crumbling outer wall, the stones slick with ice, the mortar between them cracked and blackened with age. The cold wraps around us like a second skin, repressing every breath, numbing every movement.
But the fire in my chest burns hotter than ever.
Inside, the air is worse—stagnant and metallic, heavy with the scent of burning wood and something fouler beneath it. I grind my teeth as I creep forward, my hand brushing the hilt of my sword to steady myself.
Aila moves like a shadow beside me, her crossbow drawn and ready. Mylo’s boots make almost no sound despite his massive frame, and Giorgi leads us with quick, sharp gestures, their navigation senses tuned sharper than any of ours. Isaac brings up the rear, his hand tight around the grip of his crossbow.
We weave through abandoned corridors and service tunnels, the stones beneath our boots slick with frost. The only light comes from the occasional torch sputtering weakly on the walls, casting warped shadows that lurch and stretch across the uneven ground.
Giorgi halts us at an intersection, their hand shooting up in a clenched fist. We press to the wall, holding our breath.
Footfalls.
Two guards, cloaked in Dulcamar’s black and red, their breath misting visibly in the freezing air, round the corner ahead. Their handsrest lazily on the hilts of their weapons, unaware.
Kormak signals something to the squad. Giorgi flicks two fingers to Isaac, who nods, slipping into the darkness.
The moment the guards pass, Isaac moves. As swift and silent as a striking viper, he takes one down with a quick arrow to the throat. Giorgi disables the second with a brutal strike to the temple, catching the man’s body before it can hit the ground.
No noise. No alarm.
We move again.
Every step draws us deeper into the beast’s belly, where the cold seems to seep into our bones, where even our own heartbeats feel too loud.
The floor suddenly begins to tremble, and we freeze. The disturbance lingers, and I swear I hear a low, grumbling growl. We exchange glances until the sound dissipates.
I tighten my grip on my sword, my jaw clenching so hard, it aches. Every instinct in me howls to run ahead, to tear apart every stone until I have Celeste in my arms again. But I force myself to stay with the others, to move carefully, methodically.
If I get reckless now, I’ll never reach her.
As we climb a flight of stone stairs, heavy footfalls echo from the hall ahead—guards shouting to one another, their voices bouncing off the stone like sharp blades.
“Seal the main floor!” one of the guards shouts. “No one gets past—by order of the prince!”
