Chapter 52
Silence had settled over the cell. Not the peaceful kind—no, this was the kind of silence that crushed in from all sides. A silence that watched. That listened. That waited.
The others were asleep, their exhaustion pinning them down in the dark. Even Varyth, whose tension never truly faded, had succumbed, his breathing slow and measured where he lay against the farthest wall. Darian had one arm draped over his own eyes, his face turned away.
Cindrissian was still as death itself, his breathing so silent I almost questioned whether he was breathing at all. Fenric sprawled nearby, his usually pristine form now streaked with dirt and dried blood. Linc lay as close as propriety allowed, their hands next to each other in the lightest touch.
But we were awake.
Shaelith. Brynelle. Me.
I twisted the strip of fabric in my hands, wrapping it tightly around the shard of bone I’d found in the corner of the cell. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.
Shaelith’s voice was a whisper, so cutting it needed no volume to make an impact. “Are you sure about this?”
I let out a breath, finishing the final wrap before flexing my fingers, testing the makeshift weapon. It would do.
“Oh, absolutely not,” I said, dry as dust. “This is a terrible idea.”
A ghost of a smirk tugged at Brynelle’s lips.
Shaelith huffed, adjusting her position beside me, shifting her weight. “At least you’re self-aware.”
Brynelle’s whiskey-coloured eyes gleamed in the dim torchlight. “On the bright side, if this fails, at least we’ll be dead before we have to hear them say I told you so.”
I swallowed a laugh, though my chest twisted. “Now that’s the real incentive.”
“I hate that I agree.” Shaelith shook her head.
We all did.
Because if the males found out what we were about to do, they’d shut it down before we could even finish explaining.
Varyth and Linc, with their strategic minds, would tell us it was reckless, that we needed more information, more time. That we couldn’t afford a mistake.
Darian, whose rage had only grown wilder in the days we’d been here, would grab my wrist, shake his head, and refuse to let us take another step toward the door.
Cindrissian wouldn’t even argue. He’d just look at us. One look. And that would be enough.
And Fenric?
Fenric would sigh. Deeply. And then he’d make some snide remark before physically hauling me away from the door.
But they weren’t awake.
And we didn’t have time.
I looked at Brynelle, whose fingers hovered over the latch. She hadn’t touched it yet, hadn’t made a sound, but there was something electric in the air. A single breath away from action.
Shaelith’s gaze flicked to me, then to the males, ensuring they were deep in sleep. A shared understanding.
“One chance,” Brynelle said.
I nodded. “Then let’s make it count.”
The words hung in the air for a heartbeat. Then Brynelle moved.
She reached for Shaelith, hand cupping her jaw, thumb brushing across the line of her cheekbone, and for a moment, the cell, the sleeping males, the impossible plan—all of it vanished.
There was only them.
Shaelith’s breath hitched. Her pale violet eyes softened in a way I’d never seen before, the usual razor edge melting away. Her fingers found Brynelle’s wrist, holding tight, anchoring herself.
“I love you,” Brynelle whispered, the words barely audible but carved deep.
Shaelith’s composure cracked. Just for a second. Just enough.
“Don’t,” she said, voice rough. “Don’t say it like that. Like it’s goodbye.”
“It’s not goodbye.” Brynelle’s forehead pressed against hers, their breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. “It’s a promise. That no matter what happens out there, you’re the reason I’m still fighting.”
Shaelith closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, they shone. “I love you too,” she said, fierce and broken all at once. “So much it terrifies me.”
And then Shaelith kissed her.
Hard and desperate—like she was trying to memorise the taste of Brynelle’s lips, the warmth of her skin, the way her body fit against hers in the dark. Like this might be the last time, and she refused to waste a single second of it.
Brynelle’s hand slid into Shaelith’s white hair, tangling in the strands as she kissed her back. Their mouths moved together, a conversation spoken in touches and sighs and the trembling press of bodies that had seen too much war and not enough peace.
I looked away.
Not because I didn’t want to see it. But because it felt sacred. Private. A moment stolen from the jaws of death, and I had no right to witness it.
When they finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, Brynelle rested her forehead against Shaelith’s one last time. “Ready?” she whispered.
Shaelith nodded, her hand clutching Brynelle’s wrist. “Always.”
I exhaled slowly, forcing myself back into the present. Back into the plan. Back into the cold reality that we were about to walk straight into danger with nothing but a bone shard, stolen keys, and the reckless hope that usually got people killed.
Brynelle slid the thin, broken piece of metal she had stolen—when, I had no idea, but gods bless her for it—between the lock and the door frame.
I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Shaelith, Bryn?”
Brynelle glanced back instantly, Shaelith pausing beside her.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “If I die in here—”
Brynelle’s face twisted with immediate protest. “Don’t.”
“No.” I held up a hand. “Listen.”
They froze, silent, so I pushed on.
“If I die,” I said again, slower this time, steadying my breath, my heart, my resolve, “I want you to look after Mireth and Eryx.”
Shaelith’s brows lifted, her mouth parting. Brynelle blinked rapidly, before a hundred emotions flashed across her face in the space of a breath.
“You’d be excellent mothers,” I said, and it nearly cracked me open. “They’re… they’re so small. And scared. And they shouldn’t have to grow up without someone who will fight for them.” My voice broke. I hated that it did.
Shaelith scoffed. “We’re in a Nyxarian death trap and you’re talking about playdates.” But I saw it—beneath the sarcasm, the harsh edge of fear and heartache. Words that she didn’t want to speak, because speaking made it real.
Brynelle didn’t waver. She stepped closer, grasping my arm, her grip gentle. “If that’s what you want,” she whispered. “Of course. We would. I swear it.”
Shaelith didn’t speak. She looked at me over her shoulder, her lips a tight line. And then, the smallest nod.
A promise.
I nodded back.
Brynelle turned back to the door. The piece of metal wasn’t a perfect tool. It didn’t need to be. It just had to hold.
One breath.
Two.
A click.
The door creaked open. Every second stretched into an eternity.
Brynelle’s head snapped toward the corridor. The guards were there but not looking our way. Their laughter filled the damp air, bouncing off the stone walls.
They didn’t know.
Not yet.
My fingers curled tighter around the bone fragment. Better than nothing.
Now or never.
I struck first.
One step. Silent.
The first guard didn’t have time to breathe before I was on him.
My hand clamped over his mouth, stifling the beginnings of a warning. The bone dagger was crude, but effective as it sank into his throat. A quick, brutal slice. Heat bloomed over my arm, blood spilling fast and thick.
The body sagged against me, dead weight. I let it drop.
Brynelle was already moving.
The second guard had started to turn when she struck.
Her stolen bit of metal drove into his neck. A strangled gurgle. A shuddering gasp. A final, failing twitch of muscle, then silence.
The bodies hit the ground.
We didn’t breathe. Not until we were sure the noise hadn’t carried, that no more footsteps would follow.
Shaelith exhaled, kneeling beside one of the fallen guards. She stripped a blade from his hip, its weight settling easily into her palm. A proper weapon. A real one.
Brynelle nudged the other guard with her foot before crouching down, pulling a second blade free from his belt. She turned, offering it to me.
I shook my head. Gestured for her to take it.
Her brows pulled together, but she didn’t argue. Not out loud, anyway. Instead, she huffed, rolling her eyes before tucking the weapon into her grip.
We moved. The corridor ahead stretched long and quiet, the stone damp with condensation, torchlight flickering along the far wall. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears, a rhythm that seemed too loud, too alive.
But we kept moving.
The corridors were too bright. Too many open spaces. Too many places to get caught.
We moved like shadows, each step measured, each breath controlled. Shaelith led, her movements fluid and deliberate. She gripped the stolen blade so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Brynelle stayed low, fingers twitching, her entire body coiled and waiting for the next strike.
Every turn brought us closer.
We took another.
Brynelle lunged, dagger flashing. The blade sank into the soldier’s gut, hot and wet. A strangled sound escaped his lips. Shaelith was already there, driving her blade into his throat before he could scream.
The body crumpled. I paused long enough to grab the blade at his belt.
Closer. Closer. The scent of night, fresh air. Just a few more turns.
Just—
Shouts. Boots.
The clang of weapons drawn.
Shit. We’d been seen.
A burst of movement from the end of the corridor. A guard rounding the corner. Another behind him. More coming.
We ran.
Straight toward them.
I twisted in time to meet the first guard head-on.
He swung. I ducked. My blade caught him under the ribs, tearing through flesh. He gasped, his body jerking against mine as I yanked the knife free.
Shaelith sidestepped the second guard, her blade flashing. She parried—twisted—the male stumbled, and she slashed through his hamstring. He crumpled with a guttural cry, clutching his leg as blood pooled beneath him.
Brynelle was already sprinting.
Fast. Too fast for them to stop her, but if she could get outside—
If one of us made it—