“What makes you think that’s possible?”
He turns to face me. This close, I see details I missed before. The scars are minimal—he doesn’t get hit often—but they’re there. Pale lines at his temple, across his knuckles. His skin’s weathered, sun-touched, marked by decades or centuries of existence. The stubble on his face is dark, giving his features a rough edge that might’ve been handsome if he weren’t radiating restrained violence.
Stop staring at him.
“Because everything that exists can be destroyed.” His voice drops. “The gods didn’t make the Arbiter invincible. They made it powerful.”
I want to argue. Want to point out that he’s basing this on hope rather than evidence.
But my sight catches on his words. Not on him—on the space around him. The way the Arbiter’s magic recoils.
He believes what he’s saying. And more than that—the universe itself can’t quite decide if he’s wrong.
“Assuming you’re right,” I keep my voice level, “how do we find it?”
“We don’t find it.” His gaze holds mine. Unwavering. “It finds us. We make sure we’re ready when it does.”
I hold his stare for a long moment. Searching for deception, for bravado, for the arrogance that usually accompanies this kind of confidence.
“Then we need to move.” I step back, creating distance I suddenly realize I need. “If the Arbiter’s hunting you, staying in one place is suicide.”
“Agreed.”
He doesn’t comment on my retreat. Doesn’t acknowledge it at all.
I’m not intimidated by power or by those who wield it.
But I’m aware of him in a way that irritates me. The breadth of his shoulders. The way his presence makes the air feel heavier, charged with potential energy that crackles against my senses like static before a storm.
It’s been a long time since anyone demanded this much of my attention.
We leave the frozen square, side by side. The sun’s setting behind clouds the color of bruised flesh, casting the ice-locked streets in shades of purple and gray. Our footsteps echo inthe unnatural silence. His fall heavier than mine, but somehow quieter.
I refuse to acknowledge how his body blocks the wind as we walk.
He walks like a man who expects violence and is prepared to end it. I walk like a woman who expects lies and is prepared to expose them.
Between the two of us, we might survive what’s coming.
Or we might die in a city frozen by divine decree, our bodies added to the collection of monuments the gods use to remind mortals of their place.
The hunt begins now. The Arbiter’s coming.
And I’ve bound myself to a man who can’t be crowned, can’t be controlled, and can’t be predicted.
The gods themselves must be laughing.
THREE
TYR
Ifollow Zephyra Wren through Caelreth’s frozen streets, tracking the way she navigates. She trusts no one and nothing.
My dragon notices her for different reasons.
The sway of her braid against her back. The way her attention sharpens on the Arbiter’s magic I sense but can’t see. The spine-straight posture that refuses to acknowledge the cold pressing in from every direction. The subtle flex of her fingers when she reads magic—measured, capable.
I’ve been watching her since we were paired together three hours ago. Noting things I don’t want to notice. The way she moves. The way she thinks. The way she looks at me like I’m a problem rather than a monster.
