52. Ella
Ella
He knew. Even with Wren standing right next to me, he knew it was me. Like there’s no version of me he wouldn’t recognize.
“How did you know—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“I’ll always find you, little fox,” he says, cupping my face like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like he doesn’t even need to explain it. Like it’s just the truth. “No matter what. No matter how many versions of you exist. I would know you anywhere.”
The relief crashes through me like a wave, and underneath it is love so overwhelming it fills every crack in me. Every defense, every careful boundary, every scrap of protection I’ve wrapped around myself is gone. I’m his and he’s mine.
I watch his expression shift. His eyes narrow slightly, like he’s fitting the pieces together.
“The morning in the gardens.” He says it more to himself than to me. “When the guard found you before dawn.” He turns to Wren. “That was you.”
Wren steps forward slightly. “I knew you could tell, but I just didn’t know how.”
“And the night with Tommin. And the night you were sneaking out with Finn.” He’s talking faster now, like the pieces are clicking into place. “I felt it. I knew something was wrong. I just didn’t understand what.”
His jaw tightens.
“And the dungeons…when I got you out.” He stops, looks at us both, and his eyes land back on me. “It was Wren.”
I nod slowly, tears blurring my vision. He always knew. Even when he couldn’t name it.
“Which one—” Grier’s voice cuts through the moment. His eyes are going between Wren and me, like he’s trying to solve an impossible puzzle. “Which one was I with?” His voice is so small it breaks me. The guilt hits sharp and unavoidable.
“Me,” I say quietly.
I watch the word land and watch him deflate like something inside him just gave way. He looks to Wren. There’s a desperate hope in his eyes, like maybe she’ll say something different.
“Never,” Wren says, her voice steady. “We saw each other at The Barrel a few times, but I always left immediately.”
Grier closes his eyes and drops his head. He draws in one long, slow breath. When he looks back up, the hope is gone. The sight of him cracks through me. My throat closes, and I have to swallow twice before it opens again.
I step toward him.
“Grier, I’m—” I stop. There are so many things I want to say, but only one thing matters. “I’m so sorry.”
Grier’s jaw clenches.
“You deserved so much better than what I gave you.” My eyes burn, and I force myself to hold his gaze. “Being one person with Wren was the only way we could be together. I know that doesn’t make it okay.” I hear how short the words fall from what I owe him.
Grier looks at Wren, then at me, and I see the moment it lands. That this wasn’t about him, that the lie was never personal. Even though I know it was survival, it doesn’t make it easier to look at him.
A sound escapes Finn, a sharp intake that stops just short of a cry. Then I see it, his hand pressed hard against his arm, with blood seeping between his fingers. Tommin adjusts his hold on him.
“Finn—” Wren and I move toward him instantly. His face is pale, the rush of the fight wearing off.
“We need to get that wrapped,” Wren says, assessing the wound. “It’s deep.”
Finn grits his teeth as Wren works to wrap it, while Tommin helps hold him. My eyes snag on the scars at his throat, the ones Wren told me about.
Finn looks between all of us. His eyes are sharp despite the pain.
“We need to split up.” His voice is strained. “Ryewood, you, Grier, and Ella go ahead to the next safe house. Tommin and Wren will come with me back to the first one.”
I look at Wren, and I see the same resolve I feel already in her face.
“We’re not splitting up,” we say almost at the same time.
“All together, always,” Wren says with her eyes glistening, and I squeeze her hand.
“Ella…Wren—” Finn tries.
“We’re going to have to leave the trials together either way,” I say. “There’s no going back.”
Wren nods. “Together is how we’ve always survived. It’s the only way forward.”
Finn opens his mouth to argue, but then his expression softens.
“All together is the safest way,” Ryewood says with a quiet understanding as he moves to stand between us.
Then Grier nods. For a moment, no one moves as the weight of the decision settles over all of us.
“The first safe house is the closest,” Ryewood says.
We move, all of us together. For the first time since we were children, we’re not running or hiding; we’re just walking toward whatever comes next. Mom trained us in the shallows so we wouldn’t drown in the deep.
My throat tightens at the thought of her voice. Wren heard her. We were a door away from getting her back. Now we have weeks of trials between us and going back for her. I lock that down because we need to survive this first, then we get her back.
I turn to Wren. There’s a lightness to her I haven’t seen in years, the weight of the secret finally lifting. It’s like watching a bird stretch its wings out after years in a cage.
I let the weight of it go with her. The relief is so warm and bright it almost hurts.
The trials only end one way—
With us walking through the arch, into the colosseum, where the King will finally see what happens when you hunt something long enough that it stops running.
He’s going to see us. Let him.