Chapter 22 · The Blood-Marked Map

"You're not leaving with that."

Aldric's voice cut through the dark before I even saw him. I froze halfway across the ruin's upper chamber, the rolled map tight in my fist, my other hand still bleeding from where I'd scraped it against the stone pedestal.

He stepped out from behind a collapsed arch. Two of his men flanked the only exit—a narrow gap in the wall where moonlight leaked through. No weapons drawn yet, but their hands were ready.

"Funny," I said. "I don't remember asking permission."

"Funny," he echoed, "I don't remember you owning this ruin."

I kept my eyes on him, not the guards. He was the one who mattered. He always was. "You followed me."

"I secured the perimeter." He moved closer, boots crunching over rubble. "Someone has to clean up after you."

"Clean up?" I laughed, short and sharp. "I opened the gate. I got past the wards. You just walked in after."

"And now you're walking out empty-handed."

"Like hell I am."

He stopped three feet away. Close enough I could see the frost on his collar, the way his jaw tightened when I didn't step back. "That map's been buried for two hundred years.