“Don’t breathe deep,” he commands. A thick gray mist seeps through the stairwell walls, creeping in with the precision of a trap tightening.
Without hesitation, Rowe tears a strip from his shirt, his movements quick and efficient. “Here,” he murmurs, gently securing the fabric over my mouth and nose before doing the same for himself. “Though I’m not sure how much good it’ll do. This kind of toxin could seep through skin.”
He shrugs off his leather jacket, slinging it over my shoulders before I can stop him.
“Rowe, you can’t—”
“Don’t fight me on this,” he growls, the sound protective rather than angry. “Not now.”
The caustic fog reaches us at floor forty, and I taste metal and venom on my tongue even through the makeshift mask. The air burns going in, acidic and sharp enough to shred from the inside. My legs are already trembling. I’m not built for this kind of escape, unlike Rowe, who spends his days on the move.
“Stay with me, Aria,” Rowe urges, his grip tightening around my hand as I falter. “Just focus on my voice. One step at a time.”
By the time we reach the thirtieth floor, my breath is coming in short, painful gasps. “Rowe,” I choke out, my voice dissolving into something more rattle than words. “I can’t—” The sentence triggers a violent spasm that echoes up the stairwell and I taste blood in my mouth.
“Yes, you can.” He hauls me tighter to his side. “Please, Aria. Just a bit further.”
The creature answers with a sound that is neither growl nor screech. It’s pleasure, a predatory satisfaction vibrating through the concrete into my bones. Above us, the clicking quickens.
Twenty-five floors.
I stumble again. This time when Rowe catches me, his eyes widen at the clamminess of my skin. “No, no, no.” His grip becomes iron. “Stay with me.”
The toxic mist thickens with each step, stealing the air, seeping into our lungs, soaking through our skin.
By floor twenty, the stench is unbearable. My vision fractures, dark spots dancing at the edges, while the creature slows, no longer needing to chase. Each rasping breath drags more of its venomous fog into our lungs, breaking us down step by step, turning our own bodies against us.
On the fifteenth floor, my knees finally give out. Before I can hit the landing, Rowe sweeps me into his arms in one fluid motion. “I’ve got you,” he promises, breath ragged. “Just stay conscious. Stay with me.”
I press my face into his neck, the thunder of his pulse hammering against my cheek.
Ten floors.
Nine.
Eight.
Each number brands itself into my brain, searing past the haze as Rowe’s breathing grows heavier, but his grip never wavers. “Almost there,” he pants, feet pounding against concrete. “Just hold on.”
Five floors left.
The creature’s answering shriek vibrates through the stairwell, making my teeth rattle and my vision swim.
Three floors.
Two.
One.
We hit the final landing hard, but Rowe keeps his footing even on metal slick with ash and condensed venom. “Hold on tight,” he gritsout as something massive slams into the railing behind us. Then he slams the door open, shoulder-first, bursting outside with me still cradled in his arms.
The street is chaos. Darkmoor enforcers in obsidian armor drive evacuees forward with unerring coordination, Plasma Arcs gleaming in their hands, charged with condensed magic, and tuned to incapacitate or kill at a setting’s shift. At their head, a squad leader barks into his spellbinder, the device at his wrist spilling tactical data in cold blue holograms.
More enforcers spill from the hovering transports, their movements unnervingly synchronized, every step drilled into precision. Some bear Shockwave Launchers strapped to their shoulders, weapons tuned for breaking crowds or larger threats. Others carve patterns through the air with practiced hands, layering wards that fuse into containment barriers along the building’s edge.
Rowe doesn’t stop.
His arms tighten around me as he shouts above the rising chaos. “She needs help! Now!”
