Chapter 70
VI
I wake to Armen’s hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently.
“Get dressed,” he says. “We’re leaving.”
I blink, disoriented. “Leaving?”
“There’s something outside we need to handle.” He’s already pulling on his coat. “You’re coming.”
I sit up, blanket pooling around my waist. “Outside the Rot?”
“Yes.”
My pulse kicks. “Why do I need to come?”
Armen’s gaze is steady. “Because it involves you.”
I dress quickly—jeans, shirt, boots. My knee aches when I stand, but I ignore it.
Sting and Rogue are already waiting by the door, coats on, expressions unreadable.
We move through the Rot in silence. Corridors I recognize, then ones I don’t. Stairwells that go up instead of down. The air gets colder. Cleaner.
Then I see it. A door. Heavy. Metal. Marked with old exit signs.
My breath catches.
Armen pushes it open.
I step through, blinking against the brightness. “Where are we going?” I ask.
Armen’s hand finds my waist—firm, grounding. “Somewhere you need to see.”
We walk through empty streets. Rogue keeps watch behind us. Sting leads. No one speaks. Then we stop in front of a building. Nondescript. Old brick. Barred windows. A door with no sign. Sting knocks. A panel slides open. Eyes peer through. Then the door opens.
Music thrums from inside followed by laughter, and I get a glimpse of low, pulsing, red lights. The smell of incense and weed.
The music thrums louder. The lights pulse. Bodies move in the shadows, writhing, claiming, watched.
I should be terrified.
Instead, I’m leaning forward.