Chapter 16
Rell
Rell strode through the dark streets with Violette and Symond at his sides, the cool night air biting at his skin. For the first time in weeks, his shoulders didn’t feel like they were carrying the weight of a dying world. The job was done. Trinton was dead.
And with him, a piece of the betrayal that had gnawed at Rell’s gut like a festering wound since their best alchemist had been killed.
She had been like a mother to him, that woman. Not his real mother—gods, never his real mother. That wretched woman could rot for all he cared. But Analise? She had been different. She had shown him care, discipline, and something close to love in the chaotic mess of his life.
And Trinton had ripped her away.
He exhaled slowly, letting the familiar, worn-down sight of their shop pull him back to the present. The wooden sign above the entrance swayed gently in the night breeze, its hinges creaking.
The street was quiet. Too quiet. No drunkards muddling about, no rats scurrying toward the shadows.
Something was wrong. Rell’s instincts flared, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.
His fingers drifted toward his dagger. Next to him, Symond stiffened, his hand twitching near his belt.
Violette reached the door first, stepping inside cautiously.
And that’s when he felt it. The weight in the air. Thick. Heavy. Wrong.
The scent hit him next—metallic and sharp.
Blood.
“Dierck?” Violette inched her way toward the counter.
Rell followed her gaze, his breath catching. A pool of blood had begun to creep across the wooden floor, dark and glistening under the lamp light.
Violette gasped as she rounded the corner.
Rell didn’t need to ask. He already knew.
Still, he forced himself to round the counter, his stomach twisting.
Dierck lay there, crumpled and lifeless, his body twisted at an unnatural angle. A pool of dark, sticky blood spread beneath him, seeping into the cracks of the worn wooden floor. Shit. No wounds from a blade. No signs of a struggle. Just brute, raw force—someone had crushed him.
Violette turned to him, her eyes sharp, wide. “This wasn’t random,” she whispered.
Rell’s chest tightened. She didn’t need to say it. He already knew.
“Fane,” he muttered, the name like bile on his tongue.
Symond hissed under his breath, his posture stiffening. He gestured toward the door leading to the hidden outpost at the back of the shop. The heavy wooden frame was barely hanging onto its hinges, deep gouges carved into the grain where something—or someone—had forced their way through.
Rell’s stomach dropped. The air in the shop felt suffocating, thick with the scent of blood and something worse—failure.
He got in.
“Elora.”
Violette was already moving, slipping her blades free as she stalked toward the broken door. Symond was right behind her, hand gripping his weapon like he was itching to use it.
Rell’s mind raced, his pulse hammering in his ears as his boots pounded over the bloodstained floor. Elora is down there. Alone. And if Fane had made it this far, then—
No. He wouldn’t let himself finish the thought.
His grip tightened on his dagger as he stormed through the ruined entryway.
They reached the stairwell leading down to the hidden outpost, and the second door—the reinforced door—was nothing more than shredded wood and splinters. The jagged edges of the broken frame clawed at his vision like a goddamn warning.
Then he heard it.
The faint sounds of commotion. A muffled crash. A scream.
Something deep inside him turned to ice.
Violette was already descending, silent and deadly, but Rell didn’t wait. He took the stairs fast, nearly barreling into her as they reached the underground level.
The bounty hunter rounded the corner ahead, hulking and impossibly large in the dying firelight. And he wasn’t alone.
Rell’s stomach twisted into a knot so tight it threatened to crush his ribs.
Fane had Elora.
Her dark hair was fisted tightly in his massive grip, her body half-dragged, half-stumbling behind him.
She thrashed, wild and desperate, her teeth bared in a snarl that was more beast than human.
But it didn’t matter—Fane was too strong.
Her feet barely scraped against the stone floor as he hauled her forward like she weighed nothing.
Elora let out a strangled scream, kicking wildly.
Fane just laughed.
Rell didn’t think. He didn’t breathe.
“Elora!” he snarled, guttural and raw, as rage flooded through him. His dagger was already in his hand, his knuckles white around the hilt.
Fane’s head snapped up, his slitted eyes locking onto them. His lip curled into a feral snarl, muscles tensing as he took them in. He was outnumbered.
He threw Elora.
She hit the wall hard, the sickening crack of impact echoing through the corridor. A strangled gasp escaped her lips as she crumpled to the ground, her body folding in on itself.
Rell saw red.
He surged forward, but Fane moved fast, stepping into the narrow space between them like a living barricade, his massive frame a wall of solid muscle and raw menace.
Then his hand shot to his belt.
Shit.
Rell barely had time to register the glint of alchemical shards before Fane hurled them straight at their feet.
“Move!” Rell roared, shoving Violette back as he dove sideways.
The explosion hit hard.
The world cracked apart as the shards detonated, ripping through the already-broken walls and sending a shockwave of heat and debris through the hall. Stone fractured, splinters of wood and metal flying through the air like shrapnel.
Smoke filled the corridor, thick and suffocating, burning his throat as he hit the ground hard, rolling onto his side. The acrid sting of the alchemical residue clung to his skin.
Through the chaos, heavy footsteps—running.
Rell’s mind was locked on one thing.
“Elora,” he rasped. His vision still swam, but he forced himself to his feet, pushing past the ringing in his ears. “Violette—help me.”
Violette was already moving, her silhouette cutting through the dissipating smoke as she rushed toward where Elora had fallen. Thankfully, Fane hadn’t attempted to take her with him when he ran. He probably knew they would be in quick pursuit. That just meant that he would be back though.
She was slumped against the wall, half-conscious, her head tilted awkwardly to the side. Her breathing was wrong—too shallow, too uneven. Like her body wasn’t sure what the hell to do.
Rell dropped to a crouch in front of her, his hands hovering near her shoulders but not touching.
“Hey. Look at me. You okay?”
Her head shifted, her eyes flickering open. Rell felt his breath catch. Her pupils weren’t normal.
They weren’t even human.
Thin, slitted like a cat’s, gleaming gold. And her hands—shit. Her nails had sharpened into claws, twitching against her lap as though they didn’t belong to her.
Rell went still. A slow, twisting feeling curled in his gut, something uneasy and sharp. “What the hell…” he muttered, his voice trailing off.
Violette crouched beside him. “What… is this?”
Symond finally caught up, coughing into his sleeve as he leaned against the wall. “She’s alive, right?” His tone was casual, but there was something off in his voice—like he wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer to be yes or no.
No one answered.
Frowning, he stepped closer, peering over Rell’s shoulder. His breath hitched. “What in the hell is that?”
Elora blinked up at them, her pupils narrow slits. Her breath was still ragged, but steadying, though the tension in her body was all wrong—too rigid, too coiled.
Then, she noticed it too.
Her claws—sharp, curved, deadly—caught the flickering light, and her expression cracked.
“No,” she whispered. Then again, louder. “No, no, no, no—”
“Elora,” Rell cut in quickly. “Stop.”
She wasn’t even looking at him. Her breathing hitched, growing too fast, too erratic. He reached out, fingers wrapping around her trembling hands.
“You’re okay,” he said, softer now. “You’re okay.”
Her gaze snapped to his. And Rell nearly flinched.
Not because of the slitted pupils, or the fangs barely peeking out behind parted lips. But because of the fear. Not fear of them. Fear of herself.
“You don’t understand,” she rasped, her voice breaking.
Rell exchanged a glance with Violette. Yeah, no shit we don’t.
He studied Elora closer. Blood caked beneath her nails. Hair tangled, wild. Bruises already forming along her arms and throat. The blood told a story. Fane’s disheveled appearance—it all pointed to one thing. She’d put up a fight.
A damn good one, too.
Rell couldn’t help but feel a twinge of admiration. Who was this girl? How had she taken on someone like Fane and lived to tell the tale? And then there was the matter of her claws, her fangs, and those eyes.
He wanted to know everything.
But the fear etched into her face as she stared at her hands, her body still trembling, was enough for him to hold back his questions. For now.
Unfortunately, Symond had the subtlety of a brick to the face.
“What the hell are you?” he demanded, stepping closer, glaring down at her like she was something scraped off his boot. “What happened to you at The Institute? What kind of freak did they turn you into?”
Elora flinched, her hands curling into shaking fists, her head lowering like she could make herself smaller, disappear entirely.
“Enough, Symond,” Violette snapped, sharp and cold.
She grabbed Symond’s arm in a grip that meant shut up before I make you shut up. “We’re checking the lab. Now.”
Symond scowled but didn’t fight her as she yanked him back. Before disappearing down the hall, Violette shot Rell a pointed look—an unspoken order.
Figure her out.
Before Rell could say anything, Elora pressed her palm against her thigh.
Hard.
“What are you—” he started, but the air crackled before he could finish.
A sharp, electric snap filled the room, the hair on Rell’s arms standing on end.
She’s shocking herself.
“Shit—” Rell flinched, instinctively reaching out before thinking better of it. He wasn’t exactly eager to get fried too. “Are you crazy?!” His voice came out sharper than he intended, edged with something dangerously close to panic. “Stop that!”
She didn’t.
Rell could only watch as, slowly, her claws began to shrink, retracting back into normal nails. Her fangs dulled, her features smoothing out into something human again.
Then, just as abruptly as it started, it was over.
The electricity cut off, her hand falling limply to her side. She slumped against the wall, chest heaving, her entire frame wracked with exhaustion.
Rell exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. What the hell did I just watch?
Then her eyes lifted to meet his. They were normal. Not slitted. Not sharp. Just light blue, with that faint golden ring at the edges of her pupil.
Just like sunshine.
Rell swallowed. Something in his chest tugged.
“You good?” he asked, his voice quieter now, some of the sharp edges smoothed out.
Elora gave a small, exhausted nod. “I… I didn’t mean for you to see,” she whispered, barely audible.
Rell let out a huff, sitting back on his heels. “Yeah, well… you made it real hard to miss.”
A weak, fleeting flicker of a smile almost ghosted across her lips. But it was gone just as fast.
Her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her shoulders curling inward as her gaze flicked toward the door—toward the spot Fane had disappeared through.
“You don’t have to tell me now,” he said. “But you’re going to have to tell me, eventually. If I’m protecting you until we get to Kilfaire, I need to know.”
Elora’s fingers tightened against her arms, her grip white-knuckled. “I know,” She whispered, still looking at her own hands like they betrayed her.
Rell exhaled, combing his fingers through his hair. "You should rest."
Elora let out a weak, humorless laugh. “Right. Like that’s happening.”
Fair. He wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon either. Down the hall he could hear Vye and Symond’s muffled voices, and lots of shattered glass crunching under their feet. He didn’t want to imagine the devastation.
He reached out, gingerly trying to help Elora to her feet, but she twisted away from him. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Just stared down at her lap, eyes distant.
The muffled voices grew louder as Vye and Symond emerged from the lab. “I’m the one with an education in this shit you know. I’m telling you, ashpetal will work better than glintgrape,” Symond was saying.
“Ashpetal is poisonous.”
Symond scratched his head. “Oh, really?”
Vye’s gaze lingered on Elora for a moment before pulling a small vial from her belt and tossing it to Rell.
“Drink this.” He held the glowing healing shard out to Elora, who downed it in one go.
“The outpost is compromised,” Vye said bluntly, arms crossed, her sharp eyes scanning the wreckage. “The lab’s a mess—potions and shards scattered everywhere—but the real problem is the structure. The walls, the doors, the security. It’s all shot.”
Rell nodded grimly. “Fane did more damage than I thought,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry,” Elora said softly, barely above a whisper.
Violette turned to her, unreadable, then simply nodded. “What’s done is done. We need to focus on what happens next and how we deal with Fane.”
“She’s right to feel guilty,” Symond cut in. He stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the broken doorway. “She’s putting all of us in danger. She’s too much of a risk, and she knows it. She should leave.”
Elora flinched, but to her credit, she didn’t argue. Instead, she let out a shaky breath and nodded. “I should,” she admitted. “If I go to Kilfaire on my own, he’ll leave you all alone.”
Symond’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “Good. At least you’re not delusional.”
“Enough,” Vye said sharply.
Elora blinked up at her, startled. “But—”
“You hired us, remember?” Vye cut her off, her tone quieter but no less firm. “Rell is your sellsword until you get to Kilfaire. We don’t abandon our jobs.”
Symond scoffed in the background, muttering something under his breath, but Rell didn’t even look at him. His focus stayed on Elora.
“Vye’s right. The Hive is rooted in honor. A deal was made, and you upheld your part of it. We don’t turn our backs on that.”
Elora’s eyes darted between them. She exhaled slowly, then nodded.
Rell gave her a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. This was the right thing to do. The honorable thing. But honor wasn’t what was clawing at the back of his mind.
Fane was one problem—but he wasn’t stupid enough to think that was the only threat coming their way. Elora was running from something big, and now his people were tangled in it.
He liked Elora; she’s a very skilled alchemist. But she wasn’t family.
And right now, his real family—Violette—was on the line for her.
Rell swallowed back the doubt. He’d made his choice.
He just hoped it wasn’t the wrong one.