"Don't you dare look at me like that," Mara spat. Her voice shook—half rage, half something that sounded like a breakdown. She didn't pull the blade from the monster's hide, but her eyes locked onto Rowan's. "Like you're the victim. Like you didn't sign the damn contract for the first reset."
Rowan staggered back, his boot slipping on the metal grating. "I don't remember signing anything! I don't even remember your face before this loop!"
"That's the beauty of your little trick, isn't it?" Mara stepped in, closing the gap fast. Her breath was hot against his cheek, smelling of ozone and iron. "You get to forget the blood on your hands while I carry every single death. Every. Single. Failure."
*ROAR.*
A guttural scream ripped through the air. The black-scaled beast—the thing from the rift—lunged. It wasn't a movement; it was a blur of obsidian claws and wet hunger.
Mara didn't hesitate. She threw herself between Rowan and the creature.
*Squelch.*
The claw tore deep across her shoulder.
Rowan didn't just see it. He felt it.
A searing, white-hot line of agony ripped through his own shoulder. He screamed, collapsing to one knee, clutching a wound that wasn't there. No blood. No cut. Just absolute, jagged pain that paralyzed his lungs.
"Damn it!" Rowan gasped, vision blurring. "Why the hell does it feel like I'm the one getting ripped open?"
Mara didn't answer. She jammed her knife into the creature's neck with a snarl, twisting the steel until violet ichor sprayed across her face. The monster collapsed, twitching, but she didn't let go. She leaned in, whispering into its dying ear while her eyes stayed glued to Rowan.
"Because we're tied, you idiot," she panted. "The life-link. I bleed, you hurt. I die... you're a dead man in sixty seconds."
Rowan looked up, chest heaving. The pain was a dull throb now, but the horror was fresh. "You're not gonna let me die. You need me for the breaches."
"I'm debating if the breaches are worth the headache of keeping you breathing." Mara stepped closer, her boots clicking on the metal. She reached out, fingers gripping his chin with bruising force, forcing his head up. Her eyes searched his. "Tell me the truth. Did you do it for the city? Or for yourself?"
Rowan tried to jerk away. Her grip was iron. "I don't know! I swear to God, Mara, there's a hole in my head where that memory should be."
"Stop lying," she hissed.
He could feel the heat radiating off her, the scent of sweat and old leather. Her thumb pressed hard against his lower lip—half-threat, half-something else. "You told me the city deserved a second chance. You looked me in the eye and said we could fix it."
Rowan's heart hammered. "Maybe I did. Maybe I was wrong. But look at us. We're fighting monsters in a graveyard while you're figuring out if you hate me more than you need me."
Mara's expression wavered. The murderous rage didn't vanish, but it shifted. She let go of his chin, but her fingertips lingered, brushing his jawline. The tension was a live wire between them.
"I do hate you," she whispered. "I hate that I can't just kill you and be done with it."
"Then don't," Rowan's voice dropped. "Help me find out why I did this. If I started the nightmare, I'm the only one who can end it."
Mara scoffed, stepping back to wipe the violet blood from her cheek. "Big talk for a guy who just got a phantom wound from ten feet away. Get up. Now."
Rowan pushed himself up, muscles shaking. "Where?"
"Sector 4 hub," she said, already turning. "Talia’s people have a signal jammer. If we get inside, I can scrub us from the grid. Otherwise, every hunter in Ironvale is gonna smell us like blood in the water."
"Talia Mercer?" Rowan frowned. "The Council heir? Why would she help?"
"Because she's playing both sides. She doesn't want the city saved; she wants it managed. There's a difference."
They descended into the lower tunnels. Damp. Metallic. Dark. Mara kept a punishing pace, knife out. She didn't look back, but her shoulder was still soaked. Rowan felt the ghost of the ache in his own skin.
"You're limping," Rowan said, stepping closer. "Let me fix the bandage."
"Touch me and I'll take your finger off," she snapped. But she slowed down. Just enough.
"I'm just saying, if you pass out, I'm the one carrying you," he countered, a dangerous smile tugging his lips. "And I'm not in the mood for a bridal carry through a sewer."
Mara stopped dead. She spun around, eyes flashing. "You think this is funny? You think being magically glued to me is a joke?"
Rowan stopped too. His face was inches from hers. The tunnel was narrow, the walls pressing them together. He could see the gold flecks in her irises, the way her pulse hammered in the hollow of her throat. "I think it's the only interesting thing that's happened to me in twelve lifetimes."
Mara opened her mouth to snap back, but a piercing siren wailed from above. Deafening. Vibrating through the concrete.
"What the hell is that?" Rowan shouted.
Mara went pale. "Priority One alert. They found something."
High above, a holographic projector flickered through the static and snapped into high-definition.
Rowan froze.
It was his face.
Clear. Menacing. Framed in a bold red border. Below the image, white letters scrolled in a loop:
**TARGET: ROWAN PIKE. STATUS: TRAITOR. PRIORITY: EXTERMINATE ON SIGHT. REWARD: 50,000 CREDITS.**
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Rowan whispered.
"They didn't just find you," Mara said, her voice flat. She looked at the screen, then back at him. "They've made you the most wanted man in the city."
From the tunnel entrance behind them, the heavy rhythmic thud of boots echoed—dozens of them. The Nightbound hunters had arrived.
"Mara," Rowan stepped back toward her as the first flashlights hit the walls. "Tell me you have a plan."
Mara didn't look at him. She gripped her knife, knuckles white. "My plan was to kill you. Now, I might just let them do it for me."