Page 120 of Ashen Wings

“Not much, unfortunately. I was so young. On occasion, I’ll get a little instance of memory—from a color or scent, but it’s blurry. Have you met other survivors?” she asks.

I take a breath, staggered by the mirror she’s offering. Every experience she speaks of is just like my own. “One other, but he died.”

Yaris’s lifeless body thrums through my thoughts. He was a survivor, too. There was a time when I hated him, brief as it was. If we hadn’t shared my mother’s blood, would I keep him at arm’s reach? Just as I do with Saphine?

The battle between instinct and my heart rages on. The jealousy, the suspicion…did it blind me to the woman walking beside me? The survivor, now reaching for my lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” she says and the violet in her eyes sparks.

“Let’s just make it out of these fucking tunnels…” I reply, recoiling. “How much further?”

Saphine goes rigid before she can respond.

Panic blinks through me when the sound hits. First a low murmur, indistinct, but human. Then, slow and measured footfalls echoing through the passageway.

I freeze. Boots splash through puddles somewhere beyond sight. Jace grips my hand, leaning close. His heat anchors me as I strain to hear.

There’s a chuckle of casual conversation, whispering from the dark. Whoever’s coming isn’t expecting company.

“Stop,” I say.

Saphine halts beside me. Her eyes flick to mine, alert, and understanding. “We’re not alone.”

“There’s too many footsteps for one person.” My hand hovers near my blade. “Other mercenaries?”

“Or merchants,” Saphine replies as she extinguishes her torch. “Whoever it is will most certainly be armed. No one comes down here without protection.”

We sliver into an alcove, our heartbeats racing with the impending confrontation. When the strangers appear from the darkness, my breath steadies.

No crimson cloaks. No Smoke insignia, just three couriers holding large, cloth-wrapped packages, trailed by a hooded man. The limp in his step suggests he’s aged and weathered and a long since faded memory roots in my chest. I know that walk—the slight hunch to the left, countering an age old wound in the heel.

“I don’t typically take on jobs myself, but I was feeling quite generous when your client came calling, and I have urgent business in Sea.” A voice I thought I’d never hear again hits me like a shockwave. Finnick’s tracking link ripples through me like an itch.

I falter against Jace’s chest, the solid ridges of muscle holding me steady. Our eyes meet, and he catches the anguish molded to my features.

Silently, he taps Isra on the shoulder and gestures to me. I shake my head. In the pitch dark, I doubt they can translate the mouthed words from my lips, but I try anyway—Finnick.

“I’ll expect an additional endangerment fee, though.” Finnick’s laugh, cold and cruel, sucks the air from the tunnel.

“Urgent business, eh?” his companion replies.

“I’m looking for something that slipped from my grasp,” Finnick says.

Fuck, he means me.

Cosmos aligned, the timing is almost unbelievable, but I should’ve known he’d come sniffing after my extensive journey across the continent. There’s no reality where the old mercenary would simply allow me to fade away. His wealth was built on my blade, and the blood of those I’ve killed. He wouldn’t give that up so easily.

There’s a shuffle of boots and a crunch of parchment. They’re closing in on us, but we’re tucked so far into the darkness even the wraiths couldn’t find us.

I gesture to Jace and point down the passageway.

His jaw clenches so hard, it could cut through bedrock. Isra shifts closer to us, unsheathing his blade in time with a boom of the wind above. The tracking link blazes to life again and incites a shudder at the back of my throat.

Fuck. I’m not sure if this is worse than encountering Samkiel down here. Finnick and his couriers are nearly upon us when a second crack rumbles through the alcove. Dust shakes from the ceiling. The walls stammer, along with my heart.

“Fuck…cave in!” a stranger’s voice cries, panicked and shaken. “Take cover!”

The world quivers around us, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Astora, Morvayne, even Scorath—if anyone out there still listens please spare us. I’d prefer not to spend my last breath crushed under a massive fucking boulder.