The path twists between the rocks, cutting our line of sight to the open dunes behind us. The city is completely gone from view. That bothers me more than I would have expected. Not knowing exactly where it is in relation to us anymore may be necessary, but something in me resists it.
I needed it. That anchor to something normal. Something that makes sense. Something besides the fact that I’ve been kidnapped by a tortured Zmaj and that the ones who did it to him are coming to get him back.
Why can’t I keep my thoughts focused? All the immediate threats to my life should be more than enough to hold all myattention, but I can’t stop thinking about him. About what was done to him. About how much he’s endured.
And despite everything, he continues, pushing through whatever trauma he’s experienced to protect me. Even his kidnapping me makes a kind of sense. I don’t think he meant it the way it seems. He wasn’t trying to steal me, he was protecting me.
But why? Why me?
“Why?” I ask, the word slipping out of my mouth as I think it.
He grunts, but doesn’t say anything. I glance over my shoulder. As he has been, his attention shifts to every position in nonstop vigilance. He catches my glance and pauses, holding my eyes. I arch an eyebrow, silently questioning.
Zmaj do not blush. That’s a biological fact that I’ve lived among them more than long enough to know, but the edges of their scales do shift shades of color in response to emotions. And his scales pale. The dusky reds lighten to an almost pink shade, which I immediately associate with embarrassment.
Now that’s interesting.
The wind shifts, interrupting my thought chain. There’s less force behind it and the sound of sand moving is replaced by the quieter scrape of grit against stone, but that’s not what pulls my attention. Something else rides under it. Faint. Almost nothing. I tilt my head, listening.
“There,” I say, barely above a whisper.
He turns as the hum comes back. It’s not overhead, but ahead. It’s closer. My pulse spikes.
“They’re cutting us off,” I say.
“Yes.”
I scan the narrow passage ahead, the rock walls closing tighter, the path bending out of sight just far enough that whatever’s beyond it is hidden.
“They’re not sweeping wide,” I continue, the pattern clicking into place faster now. “They’re tightening. Predicting where we’ll go and getting there first.”
“Yes.”
My breath tightens.
“Then we need to?—”
He moves forward faster. Decisive. And I follow. Arguing slows us down and slowing down gets us caught.
The passage curves sharply, opening just enough to give us a line of sight beyond, and that’s when I see the movement at the far end of the cut. It’s not drones; it’s figures. Too close. My stomach drops.
“They’re here,” I whisper, dropping into a crouch.
Everything in him locks. Ready.
We didn’t avoid the trap. We just walked into a different part of it.
15
LEENA
He moves before I see them as more than shadowy outlines.
His hand is on me, fast and certain, and I’m pulled sideways into shadow before my brain catches up to what my eyes are trying to process.
“Down,” he says, low.
I drop with him, pressing into the jagged wall of stone as he shifts his body in front of mine, blocking the opening without sealing it completely. He’s positioning us.
