I stiffened, glancing over my shoulder as the distant sound of shouting reached my ears. More were coming.
“How?”
Xarothar sighed, exasperated.“You have a connection since being intimate. Use it.”
I frowned at that, ignoring the heat creeping up my neck.
“That’s how it works?”
“Focus.”
A heavy thud echoed from somewhere below—steel slamming, footsteps pounding in a rush. Close. Too close.
I bit the inside of my cheek and shut my eyes, forcing my breath to even out despite the chaos suffocating my lungs. I pushed past the burning, the static buzzing under my skin, andreached inward, searching for the thread Xarothar insisted was there.
It was faint. Distant. But real. Like a whisper taut through a storm.
“Lower levels,”Xarothar said in my head, clipped and cold.“Move before you collapse.”
My legs were already moving. I pushed off the railing and flew down the stairs, the burn in my muscles ripping through me—but I welcomed it. It was nothing compared to the chaos screaming inside me.
More enemies closed in from every direction, but I didn’t slow. I had one goal. I was going to get them out, and anyone who tried to stop me would be dead before they even got the chance.
The connection between us wasn’t complete, but it was enough to burn like a brand in my chest and scream with every step I took.
I summoned my magic again, willing the earth to bend to me. The corridor trembled beneath my feet, cracks racing up the walls as stone groaned and shifted. A barrier surged up behind me, strong enough to hold. Just long enough to buy me time. Just long enough to find them.
A metal door loomed at the bottom of the final flight of stairs. Every step felt like wading through quicksand. A raw cough tore through me, and I stumbled.
I will not be dying today.
I reached the bottom and planted my hands on the doorframe, bracing myself as the hallway darkened. The edges of my vision fluttered, but I forced it steady, swallowing the nausea climbing up my throat.
Through the narrow glass pane, I saw them—Kieran and Ronan.
My world stopped at the sight.
Kieran hung in the iron chains, slumped and broken. His blood-matted hair clung to his face, and every glimpse of skin I could see was bruised.
But it was Ronan who made my breath hitch.
He was lying on his side, completely still. Crimson pooled beneath him, and I couldn’t believe that was all his. His breathing—if you could even call it that—was shallow. Fragile. A cold rage surged through me. My magic writhed beneath my skin, desperate to break free for hurting someone I care about.
I reach for the door handle, needing to get to them, but it's locked.
Fuck this.
I clenched my fingers around the cold metal, feeding it shards of frost from my power. Ice snaked along the edges, creeping into the lock like ivy suffocating a wall. With a brittle crack, the lock surrendered. The handle snapped off in my palm, and I swung the door open.
I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t look for traps, threats—anything. I didn’t care. I went straight for Kieran, my hands cupping his face, lifting his head.
His skin was cold and pale.
Please be okay.
His eyelids fluttered open, and finally, his stormy grey eyes met mine. Then, despite everything, the grump actually smirked.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he rasped.
