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"Stay down."
Kael's voice cut through the dark. Not loud. Worse than loud—flat.
Cyrus jolted awake, shoulder slamming into wood. The wagon had stopped. Kids tumbled forward around him. Someone's elbow hit his ribs.
He shoved a foot off his lap and crawled to the edge. Lien was already there, knife out, peering through the canvas gap. Her face was stone.
"What is it?" he whispered.
She pointed.
Twenty feet ahead, a man lay half under the lead wagon. Army fatigues. Dark stains spreading across his chest. One leg bent wrong. Trying to sit up. Failing.
Kael stood between the wagons and him. Back to Cyrus. Fists clenched. The ink on her forearms wasn't glowing yet but the air felt tight.
"Thorne." The soldier's voice rattled. Wet. "That you?"
Kael didn't move.
"Yeah." He coughed. Blood on his teeth. "Yeah, it's you. I'd know that stance anywhere."
Cyrus's stomach dropped. People didn't use your name like that unless they had history.
The convoy driver—gray-haired woman named Osse—climbed down from the front wagon. Held up a lantern. Light swung across the soldier's face and Cyrus saw the insignia on his collar.
Third Corps.
Same as the marks Kael carried under her sleeves.
"Get back in the wagon," Kael said. Still not turning.
Osse didn't move. "He needs help."
"He needs to shut up."
The soldier laughed. Turned into a cough that bent him double. When he looked up, his eyes locked on Kael. "You gonna finish the job, Hound?"
Hound.
The kids behind Cyrus went silent.
Kael's shoulders tightened. The ink on her forearms started to glow. Faint red. Like coals buried in ash.
"What's he talking about?" Osse's voice shook.
The soldier spat blood into the dirt. "She didn't tell you? Thorne the Hound. Killed her whole squad. Twelve of us went into the Scar. Only she came out."
"That's not—" Osse started.
"Twelve." Louder now. "She carved through them like they were nothing. I saw the bodies."
Cyrus's chest went cold.
Twelve.
Not eight.
Ran had said eight.
Lien's hand shook on her knife. She looked back at Cyrus. Her face said it all. *If this guy keeps talking, we're all dead.*
"You think she's protecting you?" The soldier wasn't done. "She's a rabid dog. Command pulled her leash and she snapped it. Tore her own handler apart. They sent us to put her down and she—"
Kael moved.
One step and she was on him. Grabbed his collar. Dragged him up. His broken leg twisted. He screamed.
"You don't know what you saw," Kael said.
Her voice was different now. Lower. Grinding.
The ink on her arms flared bright red. Crawled up past her elbows. Past her shoulders. Spreading across her neck. Cyrus could see the shapes now—teeth, claws, chains breaking.
"I know—" The soldier choked. "I know you killed them. I know what you are."
Kael's hand moved to his throat.
"Wait."
Cyrus was out of the wagon before he knew he was moving. Boots hit the ground. He stumbled forward. "Wait, don't—"
Kael's head snapped toward him.
Her eyes were wrong.
Pupils too wide. Red glow from her ink reflecting back. For half a second he wasn't looking at a person. He was looking at something that used to be a person.
"Get back," she said.
He didn't.
Stupid. He knew it was stupid. But if she killed this guy in front of the convoy, in front of the kids, they'd never make it to the border. Osse would turn them in. Lien would slit his throat. The whole thing would collapse.
"He's dying anyway." Cyrus kept his voice steady. Kept his hands where she could see them. "Look at him. He's got minutes. You don't need to—"
"He'll talk."
"To who? There's no one out here."
"There's you." Kael jerked her chin toward the wagons. Toward the kids watching through the canvas. "There's them. You think they'll stay quiet? You think Osse will keep driving if she thinks I'm what he says I am?"
Cyrus's mouth was dry. "Are you?"
Wrong question.
Kael's hand tightened on the soldier's throat. The man made a choking sound. Clawed at her wrist. The ink-lit muscle didn't budge.
"Kael." Cyrus took another step. Close enough now to see the sweat on her temple. Close enough to see her locked jaw. "If you kill him like this, they'll know. If you let him die on his own, it's just bad luck."
She didn't let go.
The soldier's eyes rolled back.
"Kael."
Her fingers opened.
The man dropped. Hit the ground hard. Sucked in a wet, rattling breath.
Kael stepped back. The ink on her arms dimmed. Didn't fade. She was shaking.
"Get him out of sight," she said.
Cyrus blinked. "What?"
"Under the wagon. Out of sight. Now."
She turned and walked past him. Didn't look at Osse. Didn't look at the kids. Just walked into the dark between the wagons and disappeared.
Osse stared at Cyrus. "What do we do?"
Cyrus looked down at the soldier. Shallow breathing. Blood pooling under his ribs. Minutes. Maybe less.
"Help me move him," Cyrus said.
They dragged him under the second wagon. Pointless. The guy was gone. But it kept him out of sight.
Osse stood. Wiped her hands on her coat. "Is it true? What he said?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know or you won't say?"
Cyrus met her eyes. "I don't know. But she's kept us alive this far. That's what I know."
Osse looked like she wanted to argue. Instead she picked up her lantern and climbed back onto the wagon. "We're moving in five minutes. Anyone not on board gets left."
Cyrus waited till she was gone. Then he crouched next to the soldier.
The man's eyes cracked open. "You're dead," he whispered. "All of you. She'll turn. They always turn."
"Who sent you?"
"Compliance corps. We've been tracking her for two weeks." He coughed. More blood. "There's more of us. They'll find her."
"How many?"
The soldier smiled. Teeth red. "Enough."
His head rolled to the side.
Cyrus checked his pulse.
Nothing.
He sat back on his heels. Hands shaking.
Compliance corps. That meant hunters. Specialists. People who tracked down war-tattooed soldiers who broke their leash.
People who would kill everyone in the convoy if it meant putting Kael down.
Footsteps behind him.
Kael.
She crouched next to the body. Face blank again. The ink on her arms had faded to dull lines.
"He's dead," Cyrus said.
She didn't answer. Just reached into the soldier's jacket and pulled something out.
A key.
Flat black metal. Military issue. The kind that opened depot locks.
Or prison transports.
She stood. Looked at Cyrus.
"There's more coming," she said.
"I know."
"They'll hit us before we reach the border."
Cyrus pushed himself up. Legs felt weak. "How many?"
Kael turned the key over in her hand. Her jaw worked.
"Enough," she said.
She walked away.
Cyrus stood there in the dark. Dead soldier at his feet. Convoy engine coughing to life behind him. Lien's face in the wagon gap, watching him with something that wasn't quite trust but wasn't quite hate.
He looked down at the body one more time.
Twelve, the man had said.
Not eight.
Kael had lied. Or Ran had. Or everyone had.
Cyrus climbed back into the wagon. Lien moved aside. Didn't sheath her knife.
"She killed him," Lien said. Flat.
"He was already dying."
"She would have."
Cyrus didn't argue. They both knew it was true.
The wagon lurched forward. Wheels rolled over something that crunched.
Cyrus closed his eyes.
When he opened them, Kael was sitting at the far end of the wagon bed. The key was gone. Hands empty. Staring at nothing.
Her lips moved.
Counting something.
Or trying to remember.
Cyrus wondered how much she'd just lost.