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"Move."
Kael's hand locked on Cyrus's collar and yanked him through the shop door before he could finish staring at the hole in his wall.
He moved.
She didn't let go until they hit the alley. Cold air bit his face. An idling transport truck sat twenty meters down, headlights off, engine rattling like it was held together with prayers.
Kael's grip shifted to his shoulder, steering.
"Wait," Cyrus said. "I need tools. Ink. If I'm supposed to fix—"
"You'll get them on the road."
"On the road where? The medical station's two days north and I can't just walk in there without—"
Kael stopped. Her fingers dug in. "You're not walking. You're riding with the convoy."
Convoy.
Cyrus looked past her. The truck's cargo bed had a tarp over it, edges lifting in the wind. Shapes underneath.
Small shapes.
"You've gotta be kidding me," he said.
"Keep your voice down." Kael shoved him forward.
They reached the truck. She rapped twice on the side panel. The tarp peeled back and a kid's face appeared. Ten, maybe. Pale. Sharp-eyed. Watching Cyrus like he might bite.
"Lien," Kael said. "This is Vale. He's coming with us."
The kid didn't blink. "He's the forger."
"He's the forger."
Lien's gaze dropped to Kael's neck. The command chain mark sat just under her jaw, darker than it should be. Unstable. Bleeding into the skin around it.
Cyrus could see it even in the low light.
So could Lien.
"You said it was fixed," Lien said.
"It will be."
"When?"
"Two days."
Lien stared at her. Then at Cyrus. Then back.
"Fine," she said. "But he rides in back. And if he tries anything, I'm telling the others."
Kael nodded once. Lien dropped the tarp.
Cyrus turned on Kael. "War orphans? You're running war orphans?"
"I'm escorting them."
"To where?"
"The border."
"What border? The contested zone? That's a three-week trip through Scar Road territory and you want me to—"
Kael's hand shot out and clamped over his mouth. Her palm burned. Fever-hot. Her eyes locked on his and this close he could see red threads crawling through the gray.
Thin as wire.
"Listen," she said quietly. "You broke my ink. You're gonna fix it. And while you do, you're gonna keep your mouth shut and stay away from the kids. Understood?"
He nodded.
She let go.
He tasted blood where her thumb had pressed too hard. "How many kids?"
"Twelve."
"Twelve."
"They're all under fourteen. They won't slow us down."
Cyrus laughed. It came out bitter. "You really think you can protect twelve kids in your condition? You just blew a hole through brick. What happens when you do that near them?"
Kael's hand drifted to the knife at her belt.
Not a threat.
A tell.
"I won't," she said.
"You don't know that."
"I won't."
She said it like a command. Like she could order her own body to obey.
Cyrus looked at the truck. Twelve kids. A broken soldier. Three weeks through the most dangerous roads on the continent.
And him.
The guy who'd just made it all worse.
He should run. Grab his cash, his tools, disappear into the city before she dragged him deeper.
But Kael was already walking toward the driver's side.
And Cyrus found himself following.
Because if he ran, she'd come after him. And if she came after him while losing control, a lot of people were gonna die.
He climbed into the passenger seat. The cab smelled like rust and old coffee. Kael slid behind the wheel, started the engine.
Her hands were shaking.
"You should let me drive," Cyrus said.
"No."
"You're not stable."
"I'm fine."
She wasn't fine. Her breathing came too fast and when she gripped the wheel her knuckles went white. The ink on the back of her hands was moving. Slow, but visible. Lines shifting under the skin.
Restructuring.
Cyrus reached for the med kit under the seat. Empty.
Of course.
"Do you have suppressants?" he asked.
"Ran out yesterday."
"Sedatives?"
"Don't work anymore."
"Kael—"
"I said I'm fine."
She yanked the truck into gear and pulled onto the road. The engine groaned. The cargo bed rattled. A kid yelped in back as something shifted.
Kael didn't slow down.
They drove for thirty minutes before she pulled off onto a service road. Gravel. Unlit. Heading into the industrial zone where old supply depots squatted like tombstones.
She cut the engine.
Sat there.
Staring at her hands.
"Get out," she said.
"What?"
"Get out. Check the kids. Make sure they're strapped in."
"Why can't you—"
"Get out."
Her voice cracked.
Cyrus got out.
He walked to the back and pulled the tarp aside. Twelve faces looked up at him. Most huddled together, wrapped in blankets. A few older ones sat near the edge, watching him with the same wary calculation Lien had.
Lien sat closest to the cab. Arms crossed.
"She okay?" Lien asked.
Cyrus glanced back. Kael was still in the driver's seat, silhouette visible through the rear window.
Head bowed.
"She's fine," Cyrus lied.
Lien's eyes narrowed. "You're a bad liar."
The truck rocked.
Not from wind.
From inside the cab.
One of the smaller kids whimpered. Lien stood fast, stepping between them and the front.
"Stay here," Cyrus said.
He didn't wait. He dropped the tarp and ran to the driver's side.
Kael was convulsing.
Her back arched against the seat, hands locked on the wheel like she was trying to crush it. The ink across her arms glowed now. Bright red. Pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
Her mouth was open but no sound came out.
Cyrus grabbed the door handle.
Locked.
"Kael!"
Her head snapped toward him.
Her eyes were full red.
No gray left.
"Don't," she rasped. "Don't—open it—"
"You need help—"
"I need you—to stay away from the kids."
She slammed her fist into the dashboard. The metal crumpled. The windshield cracked.
Cyrus stepped back.
Kael was fighting it. He could see her jaw working, teeth grinding, every muscle pulled taut. She was trying to hold it in. Trying to cage herself inside the cab before it got worse.
Smart.
Terrifying.
Smart.
He backed away, hands up, and returned to the cargo bed. Lien stood at the edge, still blocking the younger kids.
"What's happening to her?" Lien asked.
Cyrus didn't know how much to say. Didn't know how much Lien already knew.
"Her ink's unstable," he said carefully.
"Because of you."
Not a question.
Cyrus nodded.
Lien studied him. Then she reached into her jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Unfolded it. Turned it toward him.
A wanted poster.
Kael's face, harsh black ink. Below it, a list of crimes. Desertion. Theft of military property. Kidnapping.
And at the bottom, bold print: **Convoy of twelve war orphans unlawfully removed from state custody.**
Cyrus stared.
"She didn't kidnap you," he said slowly.
"No," Lien said. "She didn't."
"You went with her."
"We all did."
Lien folded the poster and tucked it back into her jacket. Her expression stayed flat. Unreadable.
"The military wants us back," she said. "Kael said she'd get us to the border before they found us. Two weeks, maybe three." She glanced toward the cab. The truck had stopped shaking. "You really think you can fix her in two days?"
Cyrus opened his mouth.
Closed it.
"I don't know," he said.
Lien's jaw tightened. She looked like she wanted to say something else, but one of the younger kids called her name. She turned away, ducking back under the tarp.
Cyrus stood there in the gravel.
Twelve kids.
A dying soldier.
A military manhunt.
And him. The idiot who'd just made it exponentially worse.
The cab door opened.
Kael climbed out slowly, moving like her bones hurt. Her eyes were gray again, but the red was still there at the edges. The ink on her arms had gone dark.
Settled.
For now.
She looked at him.
"Two days," she said.
Cyrus nodded.
She walked past him, heading for the depot building at the end of the road. He watched her go. Watched the way she kept her hands loose at her sides.
Away from the kids.
Away from anything she might break.
Behind him, Lien's voice drifted out from under the tarp.
Quiet.
Almost conversational.
"She took the whole convoy," Lien said. "And they're going to kill her for it."