Chapter 14
Merrilee
The vent was tight.
Claustrophobically tight.
I had to crawl on my hands and knees, my shoulders scraping against the metal walls, my breath coming in short gasps that echoed too loud in the confined space. My hands trembled against the smooth surface, palms slick with sweat that made every movement feel precarious.
Roone moved ahead of me, his small body navigating the twists and turns like he'd done this a thousand times before.
Maybe he had.
"Quiet now," he whispered back to me. "Sound carries in the vents."
I bit down on my lip, trying to make myself smaller, quieter, less present.
But my lungs wouldn't cooperate. Each inhale came faster than the last, shallow and desperate, like my body was rejecting the act of leaving.
The darkness pressed in from all sides—not just physical but emotional.
Every meter I crawled felt like tearing myself in half.
I was leaving him.
Leaving Ahrick alone in that compound with Hewes's rage and Persico's suspicion and the consequences of his disobedience. He'd refused to throw the fight. He'd painted a target on his back. Because of me.
My heart hammered against my ribs—loud enough that I was sure someone would hear it. The panic rose in my throat like bile. What if this was wrong? What if I should go back? What if he needed me there, needed someone watching his back, needed—
The tears burned my eyes and I let them fall.
We crawled through the darkness for what felt like hours.
Left turn—another few meters of distance.
Right turn—the compound receding further behind me, Ahrick becoming more unreachable with each movement.
Down a steep incline that made my hands slip on the smooth metal, my muscles screaming in protest, my mind screaming louder that I was abandoning him.
I almost stopped.
Almost turned around in that narrow shaft and crawled back the way we'd come. Almost told Roone I'd changed my mind, that I couldn't do this. That leaving Ahrick to face Hewes alone was worse than any torture Korroth could have inflicted.
But then I remembered what Ahrick had said: You're mine. And that makes you a target.
I was the liability. My presence endangered him. Every second I stayed in that compound gave Hewes another weapon to use against him, another way to force his compliance, another threat to hold over his head.
Leaving wasn't abandonment.
Leaving was the only way to keep him safe.
The realization didn't make it hurt less.
Didn't stop the tears that leaked from my eyes and dripped onto the metal beneath my hands.
Didn't ease the crushing weight in my chest that felt like my heart was being physically ripped out with every turn, every passage, every meter of ductwork between us.
We climbed a vertical shaft that required me to brace my back against one wall and my feet against the other, inching upward one painful movement at a time. My thighs shook with effort. My breath came in ragged gasps. The taste of metal and fear coated my tongue.
Finally, Roone stopped.
"Here," he whispered.
He pushed open another grate, and cool night air rushed in.
I'd never been so grateful for fresh air in my life.
We emerged into an alley—narrow and dark, with walls made of stacked shipping containers and corrugated metal. The ground was dirt and gravel, and somewhere in the distance, I heard voices. Fighting. The sounds of Fange City at night.
"Take this,” Roone handed me a small pack he pulled out from behind a stack of crates.
I opened it, a surprised gasp escaping my lips as I saw the contents. Clothes. Nothing fancy, just a simple tunic and pants in soft worn fabric, but light years better than the harem costume I wore.
"Ahrick said you would appreciate a change of clothes," Roone commented, turning his back as I ducked behind a large piece of scrap metal to change.
"Thank you," I told him, but my mind was somewhere else. On Ahrick. On the fact that in all the chaos surrounding us, he'd thought to see to my comfort. If I didn't love him already, this would tip me over the edge.
The clothes fit reasonably well—loose enough to move in, dark enough to blend with shadows. I stuffed the ridiculous dress into the pack, not wanting to leave evidence of our route.
"Stay close," Roone said when I emerged. "Stay quiet. Follow exactly where I step. The guard shift changes in eighteen minutes. We have a window, but it's narrow."
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.
"First section is easy," he continued, his voice barely audible.
"Abandoned market, no patrols. But after that, we cross through the residential quarter.
Three guard posts—one at the north entrance, two mobile patrols that circle every seven minutes.
We time it right, we slip through. We time it wrong... " He didn't finish the sentence.
We moved through the alley like ghosts. Roone led me through a maze of passages—some so narrow I had to turn sideways to fit through, others opening into small courtyards where firelight flickered creating the shadows in which we moved.
He navigated with absolute confidence, never hesitating, never second-guessing.
"How do you know all this?" I whispered.
"Been here fifteen years," he said simply. "You learn the patterns or you die."
We passed through what looked like an abandoned market—stalls collapsed and rotting, debris scattered across the ground.
Roone moved faster here, his small form darting between obstacles with practiced ease.
I followed as best I could, my longer legs less suited to the terrain but managing to keep pace.
Then he stopped abruptly, one hand shooting up in a signal I understood instinctively: freeze.
I pressed myself against a stack of crates, my heart racing so loud I was certain it would give us away.
Voices. Getting closer.
Two guards emerged from a side passage, their heavy boots crunching on gravel. They were talking—something about a fight in the lower levels, someone who'd tried to steal food and gotten their hand chopped off for it. Casual. Bored. Just another night in Fange City.
They passed within three meters of where I stood.
I didn't breathe. Didn't move. Didn't even blink.
Roone was completely still beside me, his dark fur blending perfectly with the shadows.
The guards kept walking, their voices fading into the distance.
Roone waited a full thirty seconds before moving again. "That was the north post guard," he whispered. "Off schedule. Someone must have called them away from their position."
"Is that good or bad?"
"Good for us. Means the entrance is clear. But we need to move now, before they return."
We crossed through the residential quarter at a near-run. Buildings leaned at dangerous angles here, held up by nothing but hope and rust. Laundry hung between structures like tattered flags. Somewhere above us, I heard a baby crying.
People lived here. Actual people, trying to survive in this hellhole.
The thought made my chest ache.
"Through here," Roone said, leading me into what looked like a collapsed building. The roof had caved in years ago, leaving a skeleton of support beams and twisted metal. We picked our way through the debris, every step calculated to avoid making noise.
On the far side, we emerged into another alley. This one was wider, better lit. More dangerous.
"Mobile patrol comes through in four minutes," Roone said, checking the position of Palaydium's moon. "We need to reach the wall section before then."
"How far?"
"Two hundred meters. Can you run?"
My legs were already shaking with exhaustion, my lungs burning from the thin air. But I nodded anyway.
We ran.
Not a sprint—that would draw attention. A controlled jog that ate up distance while keeping us in the shadows. My breath came in ragged gasps. My side cramped. But I kept moving, kept following Roone's small form as he navigated the maze of Fange City's outer district.
We passed through a section where the buildings were made entirely of stacked shipping containers, their metal walls covered in graffiti and rust. Through a courtyard where a fire burned in a barrel, surrounded by figures who didn't even look up as we passed.
And then, finally, we reached it.
A section of wall that had collapsed years ago, leaving a gap just wide enough to slip through. But between us and that gap was open ground—twenty meters of exposed space with no cover.
"The patrol?" I whispered.
Roone tilted his head, listening. "Two minutes. Maybe less."
"Can we make it?"
"If we're fast." He looked up at me, his large eyes reflecting what little light there was. "And if we're lucky."
I didn't feel lucky. But I didn't have a choice.
"Go," I said.
We sprinted across the open ground. My boots hit the packed dirt with dull thuds that sounded deafening in the quiet. Twenty meters. Fifteen. Ten.
Behind us, I heard voices. Shouts.
They'd seen us.
"Faster!" Roone hissed.
We hit the gap at a dead run. I scraped my shoulder on the jagged metal edge, felt fabric tear and skin split, but I didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
We were through.
Beyond the wall, darkness. The wasteland.
Behind us, the shouts grew louder. I heard boots pounding, getting closer.
"The tunnel," Roone gasped, pointing toward a dark opening in the ground about fifty meters ahead. "Old maintenance access. They won't follow us down there."
We ran. My lungs screamed. My legs threatened to give out. But I kept moving, kept pushing, because stopping meant capture and capture meant death.
The tunnel entrance loomed ahead—a black mouth in the earth, surrounded by twisted metal and broken concrete.
I dove inside just as a blaster shot scorched the ground where I'd been standing a second before.
The tunnel swallowed us in darkness.
"Keep moving," Roone whispered. "They won't come down here. Too many places to get lost. Too many things that live in the deep tunnels."
"Things?"
"You don't want to know."