Page 134 of The First Scar
Maxx appeared at my side. He pressed my daggers into my hands—the familiar weight of them settling something frantic in my chest. I gripped them at the ready. He squeezed my shoulder once, then melted back into the shadows.
Kaelen's eyes met mine. A brief nod—we've got you—then lifted a finger to his lips.Quiet.
"Torren's cell has the north stairwell," he breathed, barely a sound. "Voss is holding the drainage junction. We have eight minutes before the next rotation."
He motioned down the corridor.
We moved as one.
More guards appeared at the far end of the passage, lanterns swinging. Brannick was on them before they could shout, a silent blur of brutal efficiency. Maxx's glamour flickered—phantom shapes, disorienting light—and Dreadscale simplywalkedthrough the pandemonium, soldiers stumbling away from him like he was a force of nature they couldn't bring themselves to touch.
The guards crumpled. Their lanterns rolled across the stone, light dying.
Silence.
Kaelen gestured down a narrow passage. "This way."
The stench of old blood and despair thickened as we descended. We were getting closer to something worse.
Then I heard her.
A low, wet rattle, each breath hitched and thick with fluid.
Kaelen raised a fist. We stopped.
The corridor opened into a chamber.
The smell hit me first. Copper and sweat and something chemical that coated the roof of my mouth and wouldn't come off.
A wooden table sat against the far wall, its surface laid out with tools arranged in a neat, deliberate row. Polished with too much care.
A drain was cut into the center of the floor. The stone around it was stained dark.
My legs locked. Everything in me—every survival instinct I'd honed—screamed to stop moving. To not see what was past that drain.
I looked anyway.
Serenya.
Strapped to a wooden frame, arms wrenched above her head, her dress torn, her skin—
I couldn't look at her skin.
A Black Talon stood with his back to us, rolling up his sleeves. Tools gleamed on a table beside him. He was taking his time, savoring it—and the last of my restraint shattered.
I surged forward—but Dreadscale was faster—crossing the distance in three silent strides. The Talon spun, blade flashing up—actuallyfast, faster than any guard we'd faced—and for a moment they clashed, steel screaming against steel.
Brannick barreled in from the side, forcing the Talon to divide his attention. Maxx flanked left, glamour shimmering, blinding the Talon with shadows and smoke.
But I wasn't watching the fight.
I was already at Serenya's side, fingers tearing at the leather straps binding her wrists. They were slick with blood—hers—and my hands were shaking so badly I could barely grip them.
"I'm here," I choked out. "I'm here, I've got you, I've got you—"
Her head lolled toward me. Her eyes—gods, hereyes—found mine. Glassy. Distant. Butalive.
"'Maria..." Her voice no more than a breath. Broken glass wrapped in silk.
