CHAPTER 30
AS WE MOVE, I struggle to keep up with the others, my legs still aching from the long swim and even longer hike. The sky above is beginning to lighten at the edges, the first hints of dawn threatening to break through the canopy. The sun will be up soon, which means they need shelter.
We’re in the foothills now, rocky terrain that offers few places to hide. At least, none that I know of. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t mind if they were all set ablaze by the sun’s deadly rays right this instant—my heart speaking, not my head.
Ace changes direction abruptly, leading us toward what appears to be a precipitous rock face covered in thick moss and climbing vines. He pushes aside the vegetation to reveal a narrow crevice, barely visible unless you know exactly where to look.
“In,” he commands, ducking through the opening. One by one, the Ravens slip into the gap, disappearing into darkness.
No blazing inferno show for me today.
I hesitate for just a moment before following, squeezing my body through the tight space. Rock scrapes against my shoulders as I push forward, emerging into a surprisingly spacious cavern.
Kale strikes a match, lighting a series of wall-mounted torches that illuminate our surroundings.
The cavern extends deeper than I expected, its ceiling high enough that even Ace can stand comfortably. Natural stone formations create separate alcoves, and I notice old supplies stacked in corners.
“You’ve been here before,” I realize, turning to face the group.
“We have safe houses everywhere,” Reece says, stretching his arms overhead. “Even in places we’re not supposed to be.”
The cavern feels ancient, worn smooth by water long since dried up.
It’s a little insulting how no one has ever stumbled across this hideout during a patrol.
How they have been right under our noses, heard our voices, but managed to evade us time and time again.
They really aren’t just some mysterious entities.
They are clever—more than I’m willing to admit.
Ace gestures for everyone to gather in the center where flat stones form a natural circle. “Report,” he says, looking directly at me.
His sharp, commanding tone is really starting to grate on my nerves. But I bite my tongue, too tired to make impertinent retorts.
“The general seemed receptive,” I begin, settling cross-legged on the ground. “But cautious. He’s consulting the council as we speak. We have twenty-four hours before we need to meet him again.”
“If Redmoore has a mole,” Ace says, talking to my forehead because I refuse to meet his eye. “How can we trust any alliance we form with them?”
“One mole isn’t going to corrupt the whole corporation,” I answer flatly. “Investigations have already started anyway. Won’t be long until they figure out who it is.”
The conversation continues, the Ravens dissecting every aspect of our encounter with Redmoore, analyzing potential advantages and risks.
They speak with the easy familiarity of people who have fought together for years, finishing each other’s thoughts and understanding implications without need for explanation.
I nod when expected, contribute when I must, but my heart is not in it.
Without Saul here, I feel the gulf between us more acutely than ever.
As they debate strategy, my mind drifts to him.
Is he alive? Is he suffering? The image of my brother being dragged away haunts me, his face full of determination even as they took him.
He knew the risks and he accepted them. But I can’t shake the feeling that if I had been faster, stronger, better somehow, he might still be here.
The Ravens gradually break into smaller groups.
Palina and Irene move to an alcove, speaking in hushed tones while fixing each other’s hair.
Kale and Reece start a small fire in a stone pit, heating water in a battered kettle.
Ace sits alone, his back against the wall, his eyes closed but clearly not sleeping.
I find a quiet corner and sink down as well, exhaustion washing over me in waves.
The ground is hard beneath me, but I’ve slept on worse.
I pull my knees to my chest and rest my forehead against them, trying to block out the sounds of casual conversations and occasional laughter that drifts from the others, which feel like salt in an open wound.
How can they joke and laugh when Saul is gone?
When everything is falling apart around us?
But I understand, too—this is how survivors cope.
Finding moments of lightness in the darkness, holding onto whatever normalcy they can grasp.
I don’t have the energy to join them, to pretend I belong in their circle. Instead, I close my eyes and try to quiet my mind enough to rest.
“You should eat something,” a voice says above me.
I look up to find Irene standing there, holding out a small parcel wrapped in cloth. Her expression is guarded but not hostile.
“I’m not hungry,” I say, even as my stomach clenches painfully.
She places the package beside me. “These are from Saul’s emergency stash. You’re no good to him half-starved.”
The mention of my brother pierces through my defenses.
I unwrap the cloth to find a few strips of dried jerky, some hardtack biscuits, and a handful of dried fruit—figs, maybe dates.
It’s simple fare, the kind of durable provisions you pack when you don’t know when or if you’ll get your next meal.
Before my mind can argue, my body is already reacting, mouth watering at the faint sweetness and salt.
“Thank you,” I murmur, taking a small bite of the biscuit first.
Irene nods once, then walks away.
I finish the food in slow, measured bites, forcing myself to savor it despite my hunger.
Across the cavern, the Ravens have settled into their own spaces.
Reece and Irene are resting, while Kale and Palina are whispering to each other, their heads close in the shadows.
Ace remains where he was, eyes now open and watching the group with the vigilance of a shepherd guarding his flock.
Our gazes meet briefly across the distance, and I see in his eyes the same weariness that I feel in my bones.
I quickly look away, but it’s too late. He has already risen from his position, stretching his long limbs with casual elegance before making his way across the cavern toward me. My heart rate instantly picks up.
Did I somehow summon him with that accidental eye contact? I frantically search for an escape route, but there’s nowhere to go in this enclosed space without making my discomfort embarrassingly clear.
To my horror, he sits down beside me, close enough that I can feel the chill radiating from his body, though careful to maintain a sliver of space between us. My back is pressed hard against the wall, trying to create distance without being obvious about it.
“How’s the food?” he asks, his voice oddly conversational.
The question is so mundane, so normal, that for a moment I just stare at him.
“Fine,” I manage, swallowing the last bite of jerky. “Edible.”
“Saul always packs the good jerky.” There’s something like fondness in his tone that makes me uncomfortable. “Leaves the cheap stuff for humans.”
I clear my throat. “You bring humans to your safe houses?”
“Never know when you’ll need to hunker down for a few days.”
Unexpected, but not surprising.
The small talk feels surreal after everything that’s happened.
I’m not sure how to respond to this glimpse of normalcy, this hint that beneath the calculating leader is someone who notices details like jerky quality.
Is he trying to be polite, or is there some hidden purpose behind this interaction? With Ace, it’s impossible to tell.
The silence stretches between us, neither comfortable nor tense.
“What are the other clans like?” I ask, directing the conversation to something useful. Saul told me snippets, but they were far too vague to be substantial. “If we’re going to be allies, I should at least understand who we’re dealing with.”
Ace shifts, leaning his head back against the wall.
For a moment, I think he might ignore the question, but then he speaks, his voice taking on a thoughtful quality I haven’t heard before.
“The Malvagi are aristocrats. Old coin, old blood. Most of them move in high circles, being famous artists or musicians of some sort. They are, at heart, romantics—passionate, obsessed with beauty in all its forms.” His lips curve slightly, almost reminiscing.
“They value appearances above all else, from the perfect dinner party and the right connections to the most fashionable residence. They’re the vampires humans never suspect because they blend in so perfectly, but they’re also dangerous for that very reason.
They will poison your wine while complimenting your dress. ”
“Are you speaking from personal experience?”
“I was engaged to one.”
That catches me off guard. I try to imagine Ace in love, committed to someone, and find I can’t quite picture it. “What happened?”
“War happened.” He shrugs, but the casual gesture doesn’t match the tension in his jaw. “Choices were made.”
I don’t probe, instead pondering on the intricacies of the Malvagi.
They might not look monstrous like the feral Veltri, but that’s exactly why humans should fear them.
They could get close to them without them realizing, until it’s too late.
They might already have. “Could they be working with the Veltri already? What if the mole is one of them? A Malvagi.”
He dismisses my concerns with a simple shake of the head. “They don’t set foot in Northcross, not even Mythcrest. They are spread out far across the globe, in places where vampires have been written off as Aevrane problems.”
“What about the Corvi?”
His expression shifts, becoming a tad more guarded. “The Corvi are elitists, treading the edge between vampire and witch. Unless you wield siphoning magic or are mated to someone who does, you do not and will never belong.”