Chapter 11 · The Hand She Doesn't Know

"Why am I holding you."

Kael's staring at their fingers. Hers locked around his wrist, his blood smeared across her knuckles. She lets go like she touched live current.

Cyrus watches her face. Sees nothing. No recognition, no memory of the last five minutes. The two dead hunters are still warm on the floor between them. His throat still aches where her blade pressed in.

"We need to move," he says. Keeps his voice steady. "More are coming."

Kael looks at the bodies. At the blood on her hands. At him.

"Who are you."

The words hit worse than her knife did.

"I'm Cyrus," he says. "We're getting out of here. Together."

She tilts her head. Studies him the way she'd study a target. Her fingers flex—measuring distance, calculating threat.

"You're the forger," she says slowly. "The one who broke my chain."

She remembers that much. The first job, the first mistake. Nothing after.

"Yeah." He keeps his hands visible. "That's me. And right now we need to go. The kids are waiting."

"Kids."

That word lands different. Her posture shifts. Still wary, but the killing edge pulls back a fraction.

"The convoy," Cyrus says.