Page 139 of Tainted Souls
“There’s an outpost about half a mile ahead,” I say, recognizing a distinctive outcropping of rocks to our left. “Small garrison, usually six to eight hunters on rotation. They monitor movement along this sector and report back to headquarters.”
Ace nods, contemplating. “You’ll approach them alone. Tell them whatever story you need to—that you escaped, have information. But you’re not going back to Redmoore. Insist on speaking at the outpost only. If they try to move you, we intervene.”
“No.” I step closer. “If they try to force me, I’ll handle it. There’s no need for intervention.”
Or any more deaths.
Reece lets out a low whistle. “She’s got nerve, I’ll give her that.”
Ace takes two steps closer, his face hovering dangerously over mine. “It is not negotiable.”
After weighing my options and outcomes, I swallow my objection, recognizing the compromise for what it is—a test of my willingness to follow orders. “Fine. I’ll tell them I’ll only speak here. Neutral ground.”
He gives a curt nod.
Then, he’s gone, vanishing upward into the canopy with a finesse no human could match. The rest of the Ravens follow, dispersing and ascending into the trees like shadows retreatingfrom dawn. I strain my eyes, trying to track their movements, but they’re well and gone.
Taking a deep breath, I start walking, intentionally making enough noise to alert the sentries posted ahead.
My boots crunch over dried leaves and snap the occasional twig as I approach the clearing where the outpost stands.
A spotlight cuts through the darkness, blinding me momentarily.
“Halt!” a voice commands. “Identify yourself.”
Two sentries simultaneously step into view, their crossbows already raised and aimed at me.
“Seraph Rosen,” I say, lifting my hands slowly and squinting against the harsh light.
There’s a flurry of movement behind the light, accompanied by the brisk taps of a terminal and the metallic sounds of guns being readied.
“It’s the dhampir,” someone confirms, pulling my records from the system faster than I could’ve strung the words together myself.
Their faces visibly cycle through shock, suspicion, and relief, unsure whether they should deem me friend or foe.
The spotlight lowers slightly as the information is radioed over, eyes never leaving me.
“I’ll send a team over to bring her in,” General Lee’s clipped voice comes through—unmistakably his.
“I need to speak with him,” I say, lowering my hands. “Here.”
The sentry with the radio hesitates, exchanging uncertain glances with his comrades.
“I have valuable information about the Veltri. About Cain,” I push further.
That gets their attention. After a hurried conference, curt nods of approval pass between them before the radio is lifted again. I exhale slowly, careful not to show too much relief.
Above us, invisible in the darkness, I know the Ravens are watching, waiting for any sign of betrayal.
“Go wait inside,” a female sentry commands, gesturing toward the concrete bunker that serves as their base. “You look like you could use some dry clothes.”
I follow her inside, acutely aware of the suspicious glances from the others around us.
The outpost is exactly as I remember from my patrols—utilitarian and sparse, with monitors displaying thermal scans of the surrounding forest, weapon racks along the walls, and a small kitchenette in the left corner. A once-familiar environment that now feels almost alien.
She grabs me a folded uniform, which I accept with a nod of thanks, then retreat to the bare-bones bathroom to change. The familiar weight of the garb settles over me like an old skin that no longer quite fits. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. It’s the same face, but with eyes that have seen too much to go back to who I was. That know too much to pretend everything will ever be the same again.
When I emerge, a steaming mug of coffee waits on the table. I wrap my hands around it gratefully, the warmth seeping into my still-cold fingers as I sit and wait.
