Chapter 18 · Marked for Purging

The voice in the crypt still echoed in my head when I heard boots on stone.

Multiple pairs. Coming fast.

Drake was already moving, pulling me back toward the gap we'd squeezed through. His hand locked around my wrist, and I felt the pulse there—mine or his, I couldn't tell anymore. The blood pact hummed under my skin like a second heartbeat.

"They're early," he said. Not a question. Just cold fact.

I didn't ask who. I knew.

We made it halfway up the corridor before the first flashlight beam cut across the dark. Then voices. Clipped. Professional. Guild.

"Hallow. Stand down."

Drake stopped. I didn't. I kept pulling, but he planted his feet and his grip on my wrist tightened. Not rough. Just immovable.

"Drake—"

"If we run, they'll shoot."

I looked back at him. His face was all shadows and hard lines, and for a second I couldn't read him at all. Then the beam swung higher and I saw Vera step into the corridor.

She wasn't alone. Four hunters flanked her, all armed, all watching us like we were something that needed putting down. Vera herself looked like she'd walked out of a recruitment poster—