Footsteps echo from the corridor ahead. Multiple sets, moving fast.
Arwen’s hand finds my arm. Deliberate this time—a grip rather than accidental contact. She pulls me toward an alcove Ihadn’t noticed, hidden behind a moth-eaten tapestry depicting flowers blooming from human forms.
We press into the shadows. The space is barely large enough for her; with me filling it, we’re forced close. Her back against my chest. Her head tucked beneath my chin. Every breath she takes pushes her body against mine.
The Bloom’s spores surge through my blood. Heat pools low in my gut, spreading outward, making my skin feel too tight for my bones. I can smell her now—beneath the fear and exhaustion, something warmer. Something that makes my teeth ache with the urge to?—
Stop.
I focus on the footsteps. Count them. Four sets, maybe five. Moving past our position without slowing. Keepers responding to the hunt, heading for the forest sweeps.
Arwen doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Her pulse hammers against my chest where we’re pressed close—rapid, frightened, struggling for control.
She’s not afraid of the Keepers. She’s afraid of me. Of this proximity. Of how the spores transform simple contact into something neither of us asked for.
The footsteps fade. Silence returns.
Arwen slips from the alcove without looking at me. Her movements are too controlled, too careful—the studied composure of someone forcing themselves not to shatter.
“Clear.” She gestures ahead. “The chapel’s around the next turn. We’ll hear the chanting before?—”
The sound reaches us. Voices raised in harmony, the words unintelligible but the tone unmistakable. Worship. Fervent and focused and building toward something.
“Ceremony’s started.” Arwen’s face goes tight. “That means the punishment’s about to begin.”
She moves. I follow. The corridor opens into a wider passage, stone giving way to polished marble that reflects the torchlight. Tapestries line the walls—more of those flowering figures, beautiful and disturbing, bodies transformed into gardens.
The chapel doors loom ahead. Massive oak, carved with symbols that match the ceiling. Torchlight spills from the gap beneath them. The chanting swells, harmonies layered over harmonies, designed to overwhelm thought.
Arwen stops. Her hand presses against the wood, not pushing—feeling. Judging.
“There’s another entrance.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Gallery level, above the congregation. Better sightlines. Worse escape routes.”
“I don’t need escape routes.” My hand finds my sword hilt. The leather wrapping is warm from proximity to my body. Familiar. Grounding. “I need the Abbot in reach.”
“He’ll be at the altar. Front of the chapel, raised platform. The Keepers will be between you and him.” She turns to face me. In the flickering light, her expression is unreadable. “Once you start, there’s no stopping. No retreat. Every person in that room will know you’re here.”
“Good.” I draw my blade. The sound of steel clearing leather seems impossibly loud in the close corridor. “Let them.”
Her expression shifts. Not fear—she’s past fear, has been since she chose to come back here. This is something else. Recognition, maybe. Someone seeing a weapon they didn’t know they needed.
“The girl will be on the altar. Restrained. I’ll get to her while you...” She gestures at my sword.
“While I work.”
“While you work.” A pause. Her chin lifts, and for a moment she looks nothing like a victim. Nothing like prey. “Don’t die before you kill him.”
Agreed terms. The Abbot’s death in exchange for her intelligence. A fair trade. Transactional. Nothing personal.
Except everything about this has become personal, and I can’t pinpoint the moment it happened.
“Stay behind me until I’ve cleared a path.” I position myself before the doors. The chanting inside builds toward crescendo. “Get to the girl. Get her out. I’ll handle the rest.”
“And the Abbot?”
“After.” My grip tightens on the hilt. Muscle memory takes over—the stance, the breathing, the cold clarity that descends when violence becomes inevitable. “First we survive. Then we kill.”
She nods once. Accepting. Just as I did when accepting her terms in the forest.
