ESCAPE
ELENA – RYTHAR’S FORTRESS IN THE GREEN REACH
I push myself headfirst into the opening and immediately have to stop.
It isn’t a tunnel. It’s barely a space at all. It’s more of a maintenance alcove carved into the thickness of the wall, no deeper than my torso. A repair access. It’s just large enough for tools, wiring, maybe a service drone. Not meant for bodies—at least not Xythean-sized ones.
The stone presses close on all sides, smooth and cool, the ambient lighting dim but steady. There’s no tunnel ahead, just the far side of the wall. I’m wedged here, knees bent, shoulders angled, my spine curved to fit the tight space.
My breath quickens as I think of what can be in tunnels, but I catch it, forcing myself to inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.
I’ve been in worse.
On New Terra, the worst part about tunnels was the Project Hushbite rats. Sewer rats modified to carry a deadly venom. Men drop in minutes. The purple or black veins show fast, growing from the site of the bite. Organ shock and hallucinations follow. Then death. Women are immune.
I sniff the air in this tunnel, purely out of habit. I learned the smell of a Hushbite victim. Warm metal. Faint sourness. It’s as unforgettable as the smell of death. I always carried antivenom, and I wish I had my medkit now.
There won’t be Hushbite rats here. Xytheos doesn’t need them for war. They have plenty of food. Cinnamon, fruit, sun and sky.
Rythar's anti-fear oil is keeping my anxiety to a slow simmer and not the boil I expected.
I brace my forehead against the stone and force my breathing slow. I’m going to make it through this tunnel. But if I’m leaving the fortress—if I’m going into the jungle—I will not do it without my medkit.
Sophia might need it.
I slide in further, limbs shaking despite the oil stripping my fear away.
My body still hums with leftover heat from Rythar’s mouth on my skin, from the way his hands could have roamed over me but didn’t.
I try to forget it. Every inch I put between him and me should feel like freedom, but it’s not enough.
I shove until the edges of the far hatch open. I scoot through and roll to my knees, listening. There’s nothing. The air is cool and dry compared to the humid chamber I left.
It would be best if I could pretend I belonged here. Blend in and walk out casually. I glance down at my white dress.
Blend.
Yeah.
Sure.
I move silently, darting to the wall. I expect a shrill alarm or a phalanx of guards. But as I peek around the first corner, the corridor is empty.
I edge forward to the door at the end of the corridor. I press my palm to it, praying there’s no lock. I exhale as it slides open.
I push through the next door, then another. I’m met with the same silence. There are no guards, and every room is open. I begin to imagine it’s not just that no one is trying to stop me. It’s that they don’t imagine I can leave. Or that I’d survive if I did.
Or maybe they’re already watching.
Maybe this corridor is empty because someone cleared it.
Maybe this is the illusion of freedom.
Maybe I’m walking exactly where they expect me to.
It doesn’t matter. This may be my last chance to run. I make it to the main corridor. It’s broader here, the ceiling arched with woven metal. A few Xythean males pass in the distance, talking softly, but their eyes avert quickly. If I can get out of here without running into anyone else—
I rush through another door—and slam straight into a wall of alien male. It’s Ex O Drenz.
Just my luck.
“Elena Parks,” he says, and his voice is softer than I expect. “You should not be here. Rythar gave orders not to disturb you in the mating suite while he attends to other urgent matters—”
I cut him off, pitching my voice in the way I would talk to a soldier on New Terra during an attack. Maybe running into Drenz wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened. “I need help. I need my medkit. Now.”
He hesitates, his eyes searching my face for clues. I try to look desperate. It’s not hard.
“Are you harmed?” he asks, and the way his eyes flick to my neck, then down to my wrists, says he’s looking for marks.
“Rythar was rough,” I lie.
Drenz stiffens in alarm, frowning. “I will bring you to medical. They will heal you immediately.”
I have to dial the lie back. “No! I don’t want Rythar to know. He didn’t hurt me on purpose. He was just far too large. Please. I need my New Terran medical kit. Do you know where it is?”
The Ex O’s jaw tightens. “Warlord Rythar does not—” but he stops himself, recalibrates. “You are claimed. You are to be kept—”
“—healthy for breeding,” I snap, letting my voice tremble. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? Then get my medkit. Unless you want more people to know about this.”
That does it. The fortress runs on Rythar’s control. One crack in that image, and everyone feels it. The composure on the Ex O’s face slips.
“Wait here,” Drenz says, then keys his comm.
I hover at the threshold, hands balled tight. I scan every angle, every reflection in the polished black walls. I expect Drenz to return with Rythar, forcing me to face the lie I just smeared him with. Instead, he comes back alone, my New Terran medkit in hand.
He thrusts it at me, eyes down. "Rythar gave orders to return this to you once you were settled in," he mutters. I take it, clutching it to my chest. The lie about Rythar sits sour in my throat. He didn't earn that one. But I need the medkit for Sophia.
He clears his throat, voice dropping. “Do you wish assistance to administer—”
“No.” I force steel into my tone. “It’s private. Female. I need to do it myself.”
The Ex O averts his eyes. “Of course.” He opens a nearby door. “This room is suitable. I will wait here, and then escort you back to the mating chamber.”
I don’t have to fake the distress I’m feeling.
“No. I’m not removing clothing with you one door away.
You have to give me a lot more privacy,” I whisper.
The words come easily because I’m not lying this time.
I need Drenz as far away as possible. He’s the only other one of these alien males who’s dared get near me without Rythar breathing down my neck.
Drenz frowns, but he agrees to wait behind the door at the end of the corridor.
The urge to cry is there, but I don’t let it surface. Instead, I focus on breathing.
I count to ten, then slip back into the corridor. I move fast, making a few wrong turns and having to double back. At every turn, I expect to see Rythar’s silhouette, filling the hall, waiting for me with those hungry eyes.
But he’s not there.
A last door opens into darkness.
Shit. It had to be night.
My only hope is to make it back to the Stone, somehow, before they catch up with me. A catwalk bridges to the outer wall, where a stair spirals down to the jungle floor. I take the steps two at a time, never looking back, and exit through a small side gate.
The shield buzzes over my skin as I step out, and the night air is alive with the sounds of a thousand animals. The jungle looms, dense. I freeze, scanning for movement, for eyes shining back at me, for anything.
I know I should hide. I know the wild is full of things that are far worse than rats.
I know this is stupid. Rythar warned me the oil would make me reckless.
But this is a recklessness I need. I’ll stay on the pathway.
I’ll get back to the Stone and tell it that I need to find Sophia.
I’ll promise it anything. Anything, if it will keep the rest of my friends safe.
So I push into the trees, leaves slapping my face.
The forest looms around the pathway. It’s dimly lit by glowing flowers that have opened in the night. It would be breathtakingly beautiful on a peaceful evening. One where I wasn’t making a desperate dash into an alien jungle. Alone.
I remind myself of Sophia’s panic. Of every promise I made to fight for us. I stumble, catching myself on a root, scratching myself on some bark. Somewhere above, a bird shrieks, and I flinch, expecting claws at my back. But I’m fine. I’m okay.
I run as fast as I dare in the dim light.
The tunnels of New Terra felt safer than this.
At least then, I knew what I was dealing with.
Here, attack could come from any direction, and I have no idea what I could be dealing with.
I just have to get to the Stone, then to Sophia.
If the Stone won’t connect me to her, I’ll head back to the crash site. If I can find it.
I hear something above me and freeze. I try to slow my breathing, but my heart’s in overdrive.
I look up and see a snake, iridescent emerald, hanging motionless from a branch. It doesn’t have eyes or a mouth, though—
That’s when the jungle erupts.
A huge, catlike animal with a serpent’s tail bursts from the shadows, teeth bared, claws extended. Its eyes are yellow and red, slit-pupiled, and it moves so fast the world blurs.
Time stretches.
A loud roar splits the night.
Rythar crashes through the brush at a dead sprint, sword in hand, face locked in rage. He launches himself at the beast before it can reach me.
The thing is a better fighter than Vorak’s men.
Rythar’s sword cleaves the beast in half, but he’s watching me instead of the kill.
The back half of the beast wraps its tail around his body as the front half lunges forward, skimming Rythar’s forearm with its fangs.
Rythar drives his fist into the thing’s eye and cuts it apart.
Blood spatters the leaves, and the animal’s two halves are twitching on the ground.
Rythar staggers, dropping to one knee. I scan him quickly, trying to find the bloom of blood, the wound I didn’t see.
But the arm the beast bit is the only scratch on him. Black lines spiderweb from the wound, the skin already turning purple.
I inhale deeply. Warm metal. Faint sourness. I know that smell.
Venom. Hushbite venom. How is it here?
Rythar looks at me, eyes narrowed.
“Run,” he orders. But his eyes don’t leave mine. Not even to save himself. “Go with Drenz. Behind you.”