Sting feels it. That hesitation is all he needs, and he jumps into the void. He shifts sideways, guiding Vi around me without force, his grip never loosening. His other hand stays firm at her back as he steers her into the corridor.
I could stop him. I don’t. Not because I can’t. Because he’s doing what I should have done ten minutes ago. And now, it’s too late to take it back.
Vi stumbles when her bad knee catches, and Sting pulls her closer to his body to keep her upright, her hip brushing his thigh with every uneven step.
“Slow down,” she snaps.
“Keep up,” he murmurs near her ear.
The closeness makes her inhale sharply again.
Rogue calls after them, amused. “Don’t lose her in the dark, Sting.”
Sting doesn’t answer.
They move farther down the corridor, his hold guiding her, her limp forcing them closer together with every step.
Vi glances back at me once. Her eyes are bright. Burning. Alive.
Then they turn the corner. The corridor swallows them. The noise of the Hunt closes in again like nothing happened.
But everything has.
Vi isn’t being contained anymore. She isn’t waiting. She isn’t hidden.
She’s been claimed. Not by Sting. Byus.
I tell myself that was always the plan. That this was strategic. That forcing Sting’s hand now, in front of witnesses, would fracture our united front.
I let her go with him because I have to. Not because I want to.
32
VI
Sting doesn’t slowdown once we leave the main corridor.
I have to half-jog, half-limp to keep up.
“Slow down,” I snap.
“You’re doing fine,” he replies, not even turning his head.
“That’s not the same thing.”
His grip tightens, not painful but enough to remind me he’s the one setting the pace.
“Keep up,” he says.
The corridor narrows, the ceiling dipping lower, the lights spaced farther apart. Shadows stretch long across the concrete. We pass a couple of Rotters standing near a door, their conversation halting as they see us. One of them lifts his brows. The other looks me up and down openly.
Sting doesn’t stop. Doesn’t acknowledge them. Just keeps moving with me in tow like I belong exactly where he’s taking me.
The way his hand presses into my back makes my skin tingle despite myself.
We turn a corner and the space opens up, not into daylight, nothing like that, but into something wider. A former junction point between stores, maybe, where the mall’s main arteries used to converge. Now, it’s been repurposed into some sort of work area with men and women buzzing about, packing and moving boxes.
The ceiling rises higher here, revealing old skylights covered in grime and duct tape. Long tables line the walls, crates stacked beside them. People sort, count, haul. The air smells like sweat and something sharper. Unwashed bodies, I think.
