"Stop moving or I’ll see if this brand bleeds as much as your neck does," Mara hissed.
She pressed the edge of her combat knife into the soft skin just below Cael’s jaw. They were crammed into a ventilation shaft that smelled of old grease and ozone.
Cael didn't flinch. He leaned into the blade. His eyes tracked her with a lazy, dangerous curiosity.
"You're shaking, Voss," he whispered. The rasp of his voice vibrated against her knuckles. "Is it fear? Or the fact that every time my heart beats, you can feel it thumping in your own chest?"
Mara slammed him against the metal wall. The crash echoed through the shaft, sharp and violent.
"Shut up. Tell me how to break this thing. Now."
Cael let out a jagged laugh. He didn't fight her. He just watched the way her chest heaved.
"Break it? You don't break a Soul-Bind, darling. You survive it. Or you die together."
"I'm leaning toward carving the truth out of you," she snapped.
She shifted her grip, and he moved with her. His thigh brushed hers in the tight space. The contact was electric—a jolt of warmth that made Mara’s skin prickle. She hated it. She hated that she could feel his pulse—steady, arrogant, and entirely too calm—syncing with her own frantic rhythm.
"We have seventy-two hours," Cael said. The playfulness vanished. His voice went cold. "After that, Veyra resets. If we're still bound and haven't reached the Ash Crown, the engine shreds the soul. You'll be a blank slate, Mara. A doll with no strings."
"I don't believe a word you say," she spat. Her grip on the knife loosened just a fraction. "You betrayed the Crown. You killed everything I had. Why trust you to save me?"
Cael’s expression darkened. He reached up, slowly pushing the blade away from his throat. His fingers were long, calloused, and warm. He didn't let go of the knife; he held the metal between them, a thin silver line separating their breath.
"Because I'm the only one who knows the path through the Dead Zone," he murmured. He was inches away now. She could smell cedar and old blood. "The Royal Guards have the perimeter sealed. You can fight them with that little toy, or you can let me lead you to the only exit that isn't a death trap."
Mara glared at him. "And the catch? You don't do anything for free, Traitor."
"The catch is I need you to keep me alive," he smirked. "I'm bleeding out from that shoulder wound you gave me. Since we're sharing a heartbeat, my fainting spell is gonna be your fainting spell. Fair trade, right?"
Mara cursed. She wanted to watch him burn. But as she looked at the brand glowing on his wrist—matching her own—she felt a sharp, physical tug in her gut. A command. A pull toward him.
"Fine," she whispered. "But the second I find a way to kill you without killing myself, I'm taking your head."
"I'd expect nothing less."
Cael tried to stand, but his leg gave way. He slumped forward, his heavy weight dragging her down. Mara caught him instinctively, her arms wrapping around his torso.
They were locked together, chest to chest. The friction of their tactical gear was the only thing between them. He breathed a shaky sigh, his forehead resting against her shoulder.
"Careful, Voss," he breathed, his voice dropping to a dangerous, intimate level. "If you hold me any tighter, people might think you actually like me."
She shoved him off with a grunt, though her heart hammered against her ribs—and she knew he could feel it.
"Get up. Move."
They navigated the vents in a suffocating silence. Every time Cael stumbled, Mara felt a phantom pain in her own limb.
As they dropped into a derelict maintenance corridor, Mara didn't let him walk free. She pulled a pair of heavy-duty magnetic restraints from her belt. Industrial grade.
"Hands," she commanded.
Cael stopped, one eyebrow raised. "Really? Handcuffs? How cliché."
"Not handcuffs," Mara said. She snapped the cold metal around his wrist and locked the other end to her own belt with a reinforced chain. "A leash. You don't wander, you don't run, and you don't breathe unless I tell you to."
Cael looked at the chain, then back at her. A predatory smile spread across his face. "You've got a real thing for control, don't you? I'm starting to like you, Mara."
"Shut up and walk," she snapped, yanking the chain.
They moved through the gloom of the Dead Zone. The only sound was the rhythmic clink of the chain.
"There's a gate up ahead," Cael said, his voice strained. "The Sector 4 breach. Nico's there. He's the only mechanic who can read a Soul-Bind."
"Nico? The broker?" Mara frowned. "He sold me out three months ago."
"He's a coward," Cael agreed. "Cowards are easy to manipulate. Tell him I'm alive, and he'll do anything you want."
"I'm not trusting a traitor and a coward with my life," she muttered, but she kept moving.
As they reached the iron gates, the air turned frigid. The smell of ozone returned. Mara felt a sudden spike of anxiety—not hers, but a surge of adrenaline bleeding through the bond from Cael.
He stopped dead.
"Why are we stopping?" she demanded, reaching to jerk the chain.
"Look," Cael whispered.
Mara stepped forward, peering through the gap in the gate. Her blood turned to ice.
On the other side, a platoon of Royal Guards stood in perfect, terrifying formation. They weren't searching. They were waiting.
And pinned to the center of the gate, under a harsh spotlight, was a massive holographic wanted poster.
It wasn't Cael's face staring back at her.
It was hers.
"What the hell is this?" Mara whispered.
"The Crown doesn't just want the traitor, Mara," Cael said, his voice devoid of mockery for the first time. "They want the girl who knows too much."
The heavy iron gears of the gate groaned. The metal slid open, revealing a wall of rifles already leveled at her chest.