“What if he’s hurt?” she whispers.
“Then we make sure he isn’t.”
I squeeze her hand once. Then I let go.
And for the first time in years, she lets me lead.
The route Reflectorfeeds us is narrow and mean—maintenance conduits barely wide enough to stand in. Pipes rattle overhead, dripping condensation onto my back. Every step hums through my bones. Every echo sounds like footsteps that aren’t ours.
“Garokk,” Reflector murmurs. “You have to know something.”
“Make it fast.”
“If they took the boy, they didn’t do it for ransom.”
“Then what?”
“For leverage. Againstyou.”
I grit my teeth. “They won’t use him long.”
“Then you’d better move. Because if Vrek gets bored, he’ll make an example out of someone.”
“Then he dies.”
Reflector doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to.
Because I mean it.
Every word.
When we reach the upper platform, I motion Isolde back. The railing’s bent. The lights above sputter, throwing quicksilver flashes across the deck.
Below us, in the haze, shadows move.
Too many to count.
Vrek’s voice rises from the din. “You can come out now, boss. The party’s started without you.”
My blood turns to glass.
Isolde’s hand finds mine again, tight and trembling.
And that’s when I see it—small shape, crouched near the stage, surrounded by armed men.
Pyramus.
Alive.
But terrified.
CHAPTER 26
ISOLDE
The lights won’t stop flickering.
Every hallway pulses like a dying heartbeat, overhead strips blinking in slow, dissonant rhythm. Like the station itself is struggling to breathe.
