Page 93 of Bride of the Enemy Alien

“We move you deeper.”

“It has learned the depth.”

“We cut the hook.”

“I bleed. It sends.”

She flinches. Small. Almost invisible. Mine anyway. I should stop. I do not.

“If I leave in a way that looks like fear, betrayal, or command response, the enemy follows the story it already believes. Krix tools returning to Krix patterns. Weapon fleeing custody. City divided. You damaged.”

Her throat works once. “You don’t get to use me as camouflage either.”

“No.”

The word is true. It is also a lie waiting to hatch.

Because I will use what they think of her. I will use what they think of me. I will use every ugly thing the enemy believes if it pulls the blade away from the City.

I will even use her hatred if it keeps her alive.

Kessa stares at me too long.

She sees too much.

Then the source bell rings.

Not from above. Not from the corridor. From inside the stone under our feet.

Once.

Pause.

Again.

The City answers with voices. Distant shouts. A child crying somewhere beyond the sealed door. Boots against stone. The low warning call of Zmaj throats, controlled but spreading. The strike we feared has become public enough to have witnesses.

The hook in me pulls hard enough to bow my spine.

Kessa moves toward me.

I snarl before I can stop myself. Not at her. At the hook. At my own body. At the part of me that wants her closer while the enemy waits for exactly that.

She stops.

Pain crosses her face.

Good.

No. Not good. Necessary.

Necessary is a word cowards use when they are not strong enough to call a wound by its name.

Syin steps between us. “Do not move toward her.”

“I know.”

“You do not sound as if you know.”