Chapter 14
LEENA
The terrain changes fast.
It looked like scattered rock breaking through the dunes, but up close, it’s sharp, jagged ridges pushing up through the sand at uneven angles, with narrow cuts between them where the wind doesn’t move as freely. It’s not shelter, but it’s not open ground.
I adjust my footing as we descend, the sand thinning where stone takes over, the ground harder, less forgiving.
Each step has to be placed instead of taken.
He doesn’t slow, which is exhausting, but I get it.
He’s relentless, but then I can only imagine that after all he’s been through, it makes sense. He’d have to be to have survived.
The hum doesn’t come back, which should feel like relief, but it doesn’t. It feels more like whatever is out there doesn’t need to rush anymore.
I scan the sky, nervous, tracking the glare of the twin suns across the broken edges of the rock, watching for any distortion that doesn’t belong. I don’t see anything, but I also know that means nothing.
“They’ll adjust to this,” I say, more to fill the silence than because I think he needs to hear it. “Less visibility, sure, but tighter movement corridors. If they’re coordinating air and ground, they’ll—”
“I know.”
The interruption is quiet, but not dismissive. I exhale slowly and let the rest of the thought go. Of course he knows. He’s been moving like this since it started.
The path narrows as we move deeper into the rock formations, the dunes giving way to tighter spaces where the sand collects in pockets instead of sweeping clean across the surface, offering better concealment but worse mobility. Trade-offs. Always trade-offs.
I step down into a shallow cut between two ridges and my foot slips. I catch myself against the rock. His hand is on me before I finish the movement. Fast. Automatic. Too fast.
“I’ve got it,” I say, out of reflex, but he doesn’t let go.
The contact lingers, his grip firm around my arm, steadying, anchoring… holding. My chest tightens. His grip is cool, almost refreshing, and on some level it’s welcome. My skin flushes warmer where his fingers grip and my heart beats faster.
“That’s not necessary,” I whisper.
His gaze shifts to me. Brief. Focused, but not entirely there. The feeling from before presses back in—that edge, that difference.
“You’re slowing,” he says.
Protests fill my thoughts, but I don’t say them because he’s right. Denying it would be useless. I cannot keep up with him. I’ve done my best, but I’m reaching the limit of what I can do. Every part of my body hurts.
“I’m adjusting,” I say, instead of lying.
He slowly eases his grip. Not fully, and not immediately. He does it layer by layer. I stare into his eyes, waiting, but some part of me is hoping. For what, I’m not sure—until I see it. A flash of recognition. Of him being here, in this moment with me, and not wherever he escaped from.
He drops his hand, his gaze lowering to it as if his own limb is something foreign. Something that is acting without his direct will, then he looks back up, meeting my eyes. He frowns, shakes his head, and shrugs. He doesn’t say it, but I feel the apology, so I nod.
We continue through the narrow pass. I force my attention back to the terrain instead of the way his hand felt because that’s not helpful. Especially right now.
The path twists between the rocks, cutting our line of sight to the open dunes behind us. The city is completely gone from view. That bothers me more than I would have expected. Not knowing exactly where it is in relation to us anymore may be necessary, but something in me resists it.
I needed it. That anchor to something normal. Something that makes sense. Something besides the fact that I’ve been kidnapped by a tortured Zmaj and that the ones who did it to him are coming to get him back.
Why can’t I keep my thoughts focused? All the immediate threats to my life should be more than enough to hold all my attention, but I can’t stop thinking about him. About what was done to him. About how much he’s endured.
And despite everything, he continues, pushing through whatever trauma he’s experienced to protect me. Even his kidnapping me makes a kind of sense. I don’t think he meant it the way it seems. He wasn’t trying to steal me, he was protecting me.
But why? Why me?
“Why?” I ask, the word slipping out of my mouth as I think it.
He grunts, but doesn’t say anything. I glance over my shoulder. As he has been, his attention shifts to every position in nonstop vigilance. He catches my glance and pauses, holding my eyes. I arch an eyebrow, silently questioning.
Zmaj do not blush. That’s a biological fact that I’ve lived among them more than long enough to know, but the edges of their scales do shift shades of color in response to emotions.
And his scales pale. The dusky reds lighten to an almost pink shade, which I immediately associate with embarrassment.
Now that’s interesting.
The wind shifts, interrupting my thought chain. There’s less force behind it and the sound of sand moving is replaced by the quieter scrape of grit against stone, but that’s not what pulls my attention. Something else rides under it. Faint. Almost nothing. I tilt my head, listening.
“There,” I say, barely above a whisper.
He turns as the hum comes back. It’s not overhead, but ahead. It’s closer. My pulse spikes.
“They’re cutting us off,” I say.
“Yes.”
I scan the narrow passage ahead, the rock walls closing tighter, the path bending out of sight just far enough that whatever’s beyond it is hidden.
“They’re not sweeping wide,” I continue, the pattern clicking into place faster now. “They’re tightening. Predicting where we’ll go and getting there first.”
“Yes.”
My breath tightens.
“Then we need to—”
He moves forward faster. Decisive. And I follow. Arguing slows us down and slowing down gets us caught.
The passage curves sharply, opening just enough to give us a line of sight beyond, and that’s when I see the movement at the far end of the cut. It’s not drones; it’s figures. Too close. My stomach drops.
“They’re here,” I whisper, dropping into a crouch.
Everything in him locks. Ready.
We didn’t avoid the trap. We just walked into a different part of it.