Chapter 7 · The Black-Market Healer Doesn't Do Credit

The alley smelled like rot and old blood, and Rin was pretty sure at least half of it was hers.

She leaned against the crumbling brick, one hand pressed to the wound under her ribs. The other kept Kael upright. He wasn't bleeding as bad as her, but he'd taken a blade to the shoulder and his breathing was shallow. Behind them, voices echoed off the narrow walls. The assassins hadn't given up. They never did.

"We need to move," Kael said. His voice was tight.

"I know." Rin shoved off the wall and pulled him forward. Her legs felt like they were made of wet paper. "Mira's clinic is two blocks down."

"The black-market healer."

"Yeah."

"You trust her?"

Rin almost laughed. "Not even a little."

But Mira was the only option left. The palace healers would report them. The sect clinics would drag them straight to Varric. And the street doctors asked too many questions. Mira didn't ask. She just charged.

They stumbled into the next street. The moon was a pale slash overhead, half-hidden by smoke from the district fires. Rin could hear the market crowds a few streets over, voices layered thick with haggling and laughter.