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"Drop the bag, or I break your hand." The hunter's voice hit my back a second before his fingers closed around my wrist.
I twisted hard. His grip did not move.
The canvas bag slid from my shoulder and smacked the brick floor. Three blue crystals rolled out, glowing through the grime like pieces of trapped lightning.
The hunter looked down at them.
Then he looked at me.
"You have five seconds," he said.
"You already used three."
His thumb pressed into the inside of my wrist. Pain shot up my arm. The silver seal on his glove burned against my skin.
Combine hunter.
Not a street guard. Not some hungry thief wearing a stolen badge. The black coat, the silver cuffs, the thin metal chain at his belt—those belonged to the people who executed Current-blooded smugglers in public squares.
People like me.
"Four," he said.
"You can count. Good for you."
His jaw tightened. "Five."
The alley door behind me slammed open.
Boots pounded across the market passage. More hunters. At least four, maybe six. Their voices bounced off the walls.
"Kessler! Cut her off!"
The man holding me glanced toward the door.
That was all I needed.
I drove my heel into his knee.
He caught the move before it landed. His leg shifted, taking the strike on the side of his boot. His hand yanked me backward, straight against his chest.
My shoulders hit hard muscle. His coat scraped my cheek. He smelled like iron, smoke, and something sharp that reminded me of burned roots.
"That was your mistake," he said near my ear.
"No. This is."
I slammed my head back.
He turned just enough that my skull clipped his cheekbone instead of his nose. Still, his grip loosened.
I dropped, tore my wrist free, and grabbed the nearest crystal.
Blue fire burst across my palm.
The hunter froze.
So did I.
The flame should not have shown. Not here. Not with a Combine hunter six inches away and a squad coming through the door.
The crystal melted into light between my fingers. Heat raced over my skin, bright and hungry. A thin ribbon of fire curled from my palm and snapped toward the hunter's throat.
He did not step back.
He could have drawn his blade. He could have shouted for the others. He could have crushed my wrist and dragged me straight to the execution pens.
Instead, he watched the fire stop against his skin.
The tip hovered at his throat, close enough to singe the collar of his coat.
His eyes dropped to it.
Then they lifted to mine.
"Current-blooded," he said.
"Say it louder."
"You want the whole market to hear?"
"You brought the audience."
The fire shook between us. I kept my fingers locked, but my palm was burning. If I lost control, the flame would cut into his neck.
His pulse jumped beneath the heat.
I noticed.
He noticed me noticing.
His mouth pulled into something that was not quite a smile.
"You don't know how to hold it," he murmured.
"I know where to aim it."
"Your hand is shaking."
"Your throat is still there."
The hunters were getting closer.
"Kessler!"
He looked toward the alley entrance again.
I tightened the fire. It licked higher, touching the edge of his jaw.
"Don't move," I warned.
"You're giving me orders?"
"Right now, yes."
"That's cute."
"Try me."
He finally drew his blade.
Not toward me. He pulled it free and drove it into the wooden door beside his shoulder. The blade punched through the boards with a heavy crack.
I flinched despite myself.
He leaned closer, using his body to block the fire from anyone coming through the passage. His chest brushed my knuckles. Heat bled through his shirt. The contact lasted less than a second, but my grip stuttered.
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
It was quick. Too quick to call an accident.
I shoved two fingers against his chest. "Eyes up, hunter."
"They are."
"They weren't."
"You noticed."
"I notice threats."
"Then notice this."
He caught my elbow and turned me hard. My back hit the wall. One of his forearms pressed across my collarbone, not crushing, but strong enough to keep me pinned. His other hand closed around my burning wrist.
The silver seal on his glove flared.
The fire vanished.
Pain tore through my hand.
I bit down on a shout.
"What did you do?"
"Stopped you from burning a hole through my neck."
"You wish."
"Your fingers were shaking."
"Because your glove is cheating."
"My glove is law."
"Your law can kiss my—"
He pressed his forearm a little higher.
My words stopped when his face came within inches of mine. His breath touched my cheek. Warm. Controlled. He was not breathing hard, even after the chase and the head strike.
That bothered me more than it should have.
"Finish that sentence," he said.
"Get off me."
"Not the sentence I expected."
"Disappointed?"
"A little."
A hunter shouted from outside. "Kessler, report!"
His fingers tightened around my wrist. The silver seal pulsed again, and a thin black line flashed beneath the skin of his hand.
I saw it.
He saw me see it.
For the first time, his control cracked.
His eyes went cold.
"Don't look at my hand," he said.
"Why? Is it shy?"
"Wren Ashcombe."
My stomach dropped.
He knew my name.
He leaned close enough that only I could hear him. "You have a crystal shipment, an illegal bloodline, and three dead couriers behind you. I have your name, your address, and the names of the children you feed. Do you understand the position you're in?"
The fire vanished from my palm, but heat still crawled through my veins.
"You did your homework."
"I read the report."
"Then you know the couriers weren't mine."
"I know they carried your mark."
"Anybody can carve a bird into a crate."
"Not that bird."
His forearm stayed against me. His body blocked the alley. My bag lay two feet away, the crystals glowing beside it. The hunters outside had nearly reached the door.
He had all the power.
He had the weapon, the badge, my name, and the one secret that would get me killed before sunset.
I had a hand that wanted to ignite and no room to swing it.
"Take the crystals," I said.
His brow lifted. "Giving up?"
"I'm making you an offer. Take them and let me walk."
"You don't have anything I want."
"You want the crystals."
"I want the person who paid you to move them."
"Then arrest me and ask your questions."
"I could."
"You could also stop breathing. Your choice."
His eyes narrowed.
The black line under his glove had crawled to his wrist. It looked like ink moving beneath the skin.
He pulled his arm away from my collarbone and glanced down at it.
The moment his weight shifted, I drove my knee up.
He caught my thigh before it reached him.
His hand closed around the back of my leg. His fingers were hot through my trousers. He pinned me against the wall with one arm and held my leg off the ground with the other.
My breath caught.
His face was close again. His voice dropped.
"You keep trying the same trick."
"You keep standing in range."
"You want me close."
"I want you dead."
"Those aren't the same thing."
"For you, they can be."
The door rattled under a heavy fist.
"Kessler! Open it!"
He did not answer.
I stared at the hand gripping my leg. The black line had climbed past his wrist now, branching toward his elbow. His skin looked tight around it.
"What is that?" I asked.
"None of your business."
"You brought it into my alley."
"This is not your alley."
"I pay rent."
"On a room you share with four fugitives?"
"Five."
"That wasn't a joke."
"Neither was my offer."
He lowered my leg, but he did not let go. His palm stayed around my knee, keeping me trapped. The position was awkward, close, and far too intimate for a man who had come to drag me to an execution yard.
His gaze flicked over my face.
"You're not afraid," he said.
"I am."
"You hide it badly."
"You read reports badly."
"I can hear your heart."
I went still.
He felt it. His thumb moved once against my knee, a small, deliberate press.
"There," he said. "That changed."
"Get your hand off me."
"Make me."
"I will."
"You tried."
"I was being polite."
He gave me a flat look. "You head-butted me."
"That was the polite version."
The door shook again.
A metal latch snapped.
I had maybe three seconds.
The crystal on the floor called to me. Not with a voice. With pressure. It pulled at the heat behind my ribs, begging for blood, breath, movement.
If I used it, every hunter in the market would know exactly what I was.
If I didn't, they would take the shipment. Without the crystals, the kids upstairs would have no power for the week. No heat. No clean water. No medicine for little Niko's lungs.
The hunter watched my face as the choice landed.
"Burn it," he said.
I looked at him. "What?"
"The crystal. Burn it before my team gets inside."
"You want evidence destroyed?"
"I want to see what you can do."
"You already saw."
"That was a spark."
His hand slid from my knee to my hip. Not gentle. Not rough. Just certain. He moved me aside as if I weighed nothing and reached for the fallen crystal.
I grabbed his sleeve.
"Don't touch that."
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
"You really need a better argument."
"The crystal will burn through your glove."
"Then tell me how to hold it."
"No."
"Then watch me make a mistake."
He bent toward it.
I caught his wrist with both hands. The black lines under his skin writhed toward his fingers. The sight punched through my anger.
"You're sick," I said.
His eyes snapped to mine. "Careful."
"Rot sickness. How long?"
"Let go."
"How long?"
"Ashcombe."
"Weeks? Months?"
His jaw flexed.
The door latch broke.
I shoved him away from the crystal. He hit the opposite wall, then pushed off fast enough to catch my shoulders. His body slammed mine into the bricks again.
This time his hand went around my throat.
He did not squeeze.
That made it worse.
"You don't get to diagnose me," he said.
"You don't get to put your hands on me."
"I just did."
"Take them off."
"Tell me how you know about the rot."
"Everyone knows. Hunters who get marked don't last long."
"I am not marked."
"Your skin says otherwise."
His fingers pressed against the side of my neck. I could feel the heat in his palm. He could feel my pulse under it.
For one strange second, neither of us moved.
His eyes were gray, almost silver, but the pupils had narrowed to dark points. He looked like a man holding himself back from doing something worse than arresting me.
"You should be screaming," he said.
"You should be bleeding."
"You nearly burned my throat."
"I can try again."
"You won't."
"Move your hand and find out."
His thumb brushed my pulse.
It was not an accident this time.
My breath caught. His gaze dropped to my mouth again, and the air between us went tight. There was dust on his cheek from where I had hit him. A thin red mark cut across the bone.
I wanted to wipe it away.
I wanted to put the fire back under his skin.
I settled for digging my nails into his wrist.
"You are very bad at surrender," he said.
"You are very bad at killing me."
The door burst inward.
Three hunters filled the opening, weapons raised.
"Kessler! Step away from her!"
His hand stayed at my throat.
"She's Current-blooded!" one of them shouted. "Take her alive if you can. If not, burn the body."
My stomach turned cold.
The hunter holding me did not look back.
"Stand down," he said.
The leader frowned. "That wasn't your call."
"It is now."
"You were ordered to bring her in."
"Then write down that she resisted."
"She has illegal spark crystals."
"I can see that."
"And you are standing between us and the target."
"Because you are blocking the exit."
The leader lifted his weapon. "Kessler, move."
I felt the pressure in the hunter's hand change. Not around my throat. Around the rest of the room.
He was measuring distances. Three weapons. One door. The crystal at his boot. My body against the wall.
He could kill them.
Maybe.
The black rot had already crawled almost to his elbow. His breathing stayed even, but a bead of sweat slid down from his temple.
I leaned close to his ear.
"If they shoot, we're both dead."
"I know."
"You don't sound worried."
"I have a plan."
"Does it involve letting go of my throat?"
"No."
"Then it's a terrible plan."
The leader stepped inside. "Last warning."
The hunter finally looked over his shoulder. "You heard me. Leave."
"You're protecting a Current?"
The word cracked through the alley.
I expected the hunter's hand to tighten. Expected him to turn me over himself just to prove the accusation wrong.
Instead, he pulled me closer.
My chest hit his. His coat folded between us. His mouth brushed the shell of my ear when he spoke.
"On my mark, burn the crystal."
I stared at him. "You're insane."
"Probably."
"The explosion will take the whole passage."
"Not if you control it."
"I told you. I don't—"
"You do. You just don't know it yet."
The leader raised his weapon another inch. "Kessler."
The hunter's thumb pressed against my pulse again.
"Now," he whispered.
I reached for the crystal.
The heat came fast. It tore out of my chest and ran down both arms. Blue fire snapped across the floor, curling around the crystal without touching the hunter's boots.
The three hunters shouted.
"Fire!"
"Hold your line!"
"Kessler, get clear!"
The crystal rose from the floor.
I pulled my hands apart.
The flame stretched between them like a burning wire.
The hunter's eyes locked on mine.
"Higher," he said.
"You want higher?"
"I want the ceiling."
"You are standing under it."
"Trust me."
I laughed once. "That is not happening."
"Then trust your own aim."
The crystal flashed.
I threw the fire upward.
It struck the low ceiling and spread in a hard blue circle. The alley filled with white heat. The hunters staggered back, shielding their faces.
The hunter grabbed my waist and pulled me under his arm. His body curved around mine as the blast rolled over us. His hand covered the back of my head, forcing my cheek against his chest.
His heartbeat hit my ear.
Steady.
Too steady.
The heat tore across the passage. Wooden crates burst apart. Metal weapons clanged against the floor. Someone cursed. Someone else screamed for water.
The hunter did not release me.
"You can let go now," I said into his shirt.
"Can I?"
"You seem to think you can do whatever you want."
"That is because I can."
"You are still holding me."
"You are still alive."
"Barely."
"You would be dead if I had obeyed orders."
The fire collapsed into sparks.
Smoke filled the alley. I pushed away from him, but his hand caught the back of my coat before I could reach the bag.
"Where are you going?"
"Away from you."
"Wrong direction."
He dragged me toward a narrow service door behind a stack of broken crates.
I dug my heels into the floor. "I am not following you."
"The hunters will burn you if they catch you."
"They'll do that if I follow you too."
"They won't catch us."
"Us?"
His gaze dropped to the hand he still had around my wrist.
The black lines beneath his skin had reached his forearm.
"For the next few minutes," he said.
"I don't like the sound of that."
"You don't have to like it."
"And what do I get?"
"Your life."
"I already had one."
"Not after tonight."
He pulled the service door open.
A hunter stumbled through the smoke behind us.
"Kessler!"
The Combine hunter moved first. He shoved me through the doorway, then turned and struck the other man across the jaw with the hilt of his blade.
The hunter dropped.
I caught the door before it slammed. "You just hit your own man."
"He was about to shoot you."
"That never stopped people like you before."
His expression went hard. "You know nothing about people like me."
"I know the badge. That's enough."
"Run."
"Give me my bag."
He glanced back at the burning passage. The crystals still glowing on the floor had cracked, but one remained intact.
"Leave it."
"No."
"Wren."
The way he said my name made my feet pause.
Not loud. Not angry. A command with a rough edge underneath it.
I hated that my body listened before my brain did.
His eyes sharpened when he noticed.
"There it is," he said.
"There what is?"
"The part of you that knows when to survive."
"Don't pretend you know me."
"I know you are about to throw your life away for a bag of stones."
"Those stones keep five people alive."
"Then take the one I saved."
He kicked the unbroken crystal toward me.
I caught it against my chest.
The glow pressed through the fabric of my coat. Warm. Familiar. Enough to run the heater for two weeks if I stretched it.
He had seen the choice on my face.
"You knew," I said.
"I read the report."
"Reports don't mention Niko."
"The boy with the lung infection?"
My grip closed around the crystal.
The hunter stepped closer. Smoke curled between us. His face was smeared with ash, his cheek still marked from my head, but he looked completely in control.
"You read everything," I said.
"When I hunt someone, yes."
"Do you hunt children too?"
"No."
"You drag them to the square?"
"No."
"You put a rope around their necks?"
His mouth went flat. "I said no."
"You work for the people who do."
"I work for the Combine."
"That's not better."
The black rot moved again.
It crossed the inside of his elbow in a dark, branching wave.
He stumbled.
Only half a step, but I saw it. His shoulder hit the wall. His fingers clamped around the doorframe.
I moved toward him before I could stop myself.
He lifted his blade.
"Don't."
"You're falling apart."
"Stay back."
"The rot is spreading."
"I know what it is."
"Then stop acting like you can fight it with a knife."
"You have a better idea?"
I looked at the crystal in my hand.
The heat inside it answered the dark under his skin.
Not loudly. Not like a voice. More like two wires touching in the dark.
I stepped closer.
His blade rose between us.
"Wren."
"You said my name like a warning."
"It is."
"Put the knife down."
"No."
"If I wanted you dead, I would have let your team in."
"You might want me dead now."
"I don't."
The words landed harder than they should have.
His eyes held mine. His grip on the blade stayed firm, but the point dipped a fraction.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because you burned the crystal instead of me."
"You were in the way."
"You could have moved."
"You were holding me."
"You could have burned through my hand."
"Your glove stopped the fire."
"Not all of it."
He stepped closer, until the blade's flat side pressed against my ribs and the crystal in my hand touched his chest through his coat.
A sharp jolt ran between us.
His breath caught.
So did mine.
The black rot on his arm pulsed.
His free hand closed around my wrist, not squeezing this time. His thumb rested against my skin where the silver seal had burned me.
"What did you do?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"The rot moved."
"It stopped."
He looked down.
The black line had halted at his elbow.
Neither of us spoke for a beat.
Then he lifted his eyes. "Touch it again."
"Absolutely not."
"You want answers."
"I want distance."
"You want the crystal. You want the children safe. You want to keep your blood secret. I can give you none of that unless I know what you are doing."
"You can give me the door."
"And send you back to the hunters?"
"Better than staying with you."
"Liar."
His hand slid from my wrist to my palm. The contact was slow enough to feel deliberate. His skin was hot. Mine was hotter.
He turned my hand and placed it against the black marks on his forearm.
I jerked back.
He caught my elbow and held me there.
"Don't fight me," he said.
"Get your arm out of my hand."
"Touch the rot."
"You don't get to command me."
"I just did."
"You are asking me to fix something you won't even name."
"I am asking you to keep me alive."
The words stripped the fight from his voice.
Not all of it. Just enough.
I stared at him.
The black rot trembled under my palm.
"How long?" I asked.
"What?"
"How long until it reaches your heart?"
His face went still.
That was answer enough.
"You don't know," I said.
"I know it is getting closer."
"Days?"
"Maybe."
"Hours?"
He did not answer.
I shoved his arm away. "You knew touching the crystal would hurt you. You knew my fire could stop it. You chased me anyway."
"I didn't know it would stop."
"But you hoped."
"Yes."
The honesty knocked the breath out of me more than the blast had.
He leaned in, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath against my forehead.
"You are the first person who has made it slow down," he said. "If you walk out that door, I may not make it to morning."
"That's not my problem."
"No. It is the reason you are going to help me."
"You threaten everyone who saves your life?"
"Only the ones who steal from me."
"I stole nothing from you."
"You stole my attention."
For half a second, his mouth almost curved.
I hated that I noticed that too.
I shoved the crystal into his chest. "Move."
He did not.
"Say please."
"I would rather burn your coat."
"You already tried."
"I can improve."
"I believe you."
His fingers closed around my waist to keep me from stepping past him. The contact was firm and warm through the coat. He did not drag me closer, but he did not let me go either.
The alley behind the service door filled with shouts.
They had found the entrance.
"Time's up," he said.
"Then stop talking."
"Good advice."
He pulled me through the doorway and slammed it shut behind us.
The lock clicked.
A fist struck the other side.
"Kessler! Open this door!"
He dragged me down a narrow stairwell. I fought every step, but he kept one hand locked around my wrist and the other at my back. When I slipped on loose stone, his palm caught my ribs and held me upright.
His fingers stayed there one second too long.
I looked back at him.
"Touch me again and lose the hand."
"You keep saying that."
"You keep touching me."
"You keep falling."
"I am not falling."
He glanced at my boots. "You almost fell twice."
"The stairs are crooked."
"The stairs are fine."
"You are unbearable."
"You are alive."
"Stop using that as an excuse."
He stopped at the bottom of the stairwell.
I nearly crashed into his back.
He turned, and suddenly there was nowhere to go. Stone wall behind me. His body in front of me. His hand still around my wrist.
The black rot had stopped moving, but it had not faded. Dark marks covered half his forearm now.
He lifted my hand and pressed my palm back against them.
The crystal between my fingers warmed.
The rot recoiled.
Draven sucked in a breath.
I felt the tremor travel through his arm.
"There," he said. "Do it again."
"You sound addicted."
"Don't joke."
"Then don't look at me like that."
His eyes lifted from our hands to my face.
"Like what?"
"Like I am a weapon you found in a ditch."
"You're more dangerous than a weapon."
"And you are still holding me."
"Yes."
"Why?"
He stepped in.
His coat brushed mine. His chest nearly touched my hand. The stairwell was too narrow for the distance he wanted, and he used that like it belonged to him.
"Because if I let go," he said, "you will run."
"Correct."
"And if you run, they will catch you."
"Maybe I am faster than your team."
"You're not faster than a rifle."
"Maybe I am lucky."
"You spent all your luck when you met me."
"That was not lucky. That was a disaster."
His gaze lingered on my mouth again.
"You keep calling it that," he said.
"Because it is."
"Then why are you still here?"
The question sat between us.
His hand moved from my wrist to the inside of my forearm. His thumb ran over the burn left by his silver seal.
A small, angry movement.
The touch should have made me pull away.
Instead, I watched his face.
He looked tired now. Not weak. Never that. But the tight skin around his eyes gave him away.
"You should have killed me," I said.
"I know."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I needed to know whether the stories were true."
"What stories?"
"That Current-blooded fire can cleanse rot."
"I can't cleanse anything."
"You stopped it."
"For a minute."
"A minute is more than I had before you."
The fist on the door above us struck again. Dust fell from the ceiling.
Draven looked toward the stairs.
Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a short metal tether.
One end had a silver cuff. The other held a ring of black steel.
I stared at it.
"No."
"You haven't heard the offer."
"I have eyes."
"This is not a prison cuff."
"It is a cuff."
"It is a tether."
"That makes it worse."
He opened the silver clasp.
"Put it on."
"Try putting it on me."
"I will."
"I will break your fingers."
"You can try after we get out."
"You don't get to drag me anywhere."
"The hunters are above us. The market exits are sealed. You have one crystal, no allies in this district, and a bloodline that will get you executed on sight. I have the only key to the lower tunnels."
He lifted the tether between us.
"You want to live? Stay close."
"You want me close because I keep your rot from killing you."
"Yes."
"And what happens when I refuse?"
"I put you in irons and hand you over."
"There he is. The real hunter."
"I am not pretending to be good."
"Good. Because you are not."
His eyes darkened, but his voice stayed low. "Put out your wrist."
"No."
"Wren."
"Stop saying my name like it belongs in your mouth."
That did something to him.
His fingers tightened around the tether. His gaze dropped, slow and hot, to where my hand rested against his arm.
The rot pulsed beneath my palm.
His breath caught again.
"You should be careful," he said.
"You keep saying that too."
"One day, you might listen."
"Not today."
The door above us groaned.
Wood splintered.
Draven moved fast.
He shoved me into the wall and wrapped his body around mine, one hand braced beside my head, the other clamping the tether around my wrist.
The cuff snapped shut.
Cold metal bit into my skin.
A matching ring closed around his wrist.
The instant the two ends connected, the tether flashed blue.
Pain struck both of us.
I gasped.
Draven's forehead dropped close to mine. His breath mixed with mine in the tight space. His hand locked around the back of my neck, keeping me still while the metal burned.
A thin line of light ran from my cuff to his.
Then it vanished under our skin.
"What the hell did you do?" I demanded.
"Nothing."
"Take it off."
"I can't."
"You said you had the key."
"I said I had the key to the tunnels."
"You lied."
"I made a calculated omission."
"I am going to calculate how many teeth you have left."
The door above exploded inward.
Voices poured down the stairs.
"Kessler!"
"Find them!"
"The Current is below!"
Draven lifted his head.
The metal tether between our wrists pulsed once.
His rot pulled back from his elbow.
I felt it happen under my palm.
He felt it too.
His gaze locked on mine.
"Run anyway," he whispered.
"What?"
He yanked me toward the tunnel entrance.
I stumbled after him, the tether forcing us shoulder to shoulder. His hand stayed at the center of my back, steering me through the dark. Every few steps, the metal flashed and the rot on his arm retreated another inch.
"You said stay close," I hissed. "Now you're telling me to run?"
"I said run anyway."
"That makes no sense."
"Get used to it."
We reached the bottom chamber just as the first hunter appeared on the stairs.
Draven shoved me behind a stone pillar and turned to face them.
"Kessler," the leader called. "Step away from the girl."
Draven's hand found mine behind the pillar.
His fingers closed around my wrist.
The tether tightened.
"No," he said.
The leader came down another step. "You have a bonded cuff on her. Are you insane?"
"Maybe."
"Remove it."
"No."
"That is a direct command."
"Then send it to my file."
The leader raised his rifle.
I felt Draven's thumb press against my pulse.
"Can you burn through the floor?" he asked without looking at me.
"Can you stop asking impossible questions?"
"Can you?"
"Maybe."
"Good."
"Good?"
He glanced back. His face was inches from mine again. "When I move, burn the supports on the left."
"That will bury us."
"It will bury them first."
"You really are a terrible plan."
"You still have time to leave me."
I looked at the tether between us.
"No, I don't."
Something sharp crossed his expression. Regret, maybe. Or satisfaction.
I could not tell which scared me more.
The leader pointed the rifle at Draven's chest. "Last chance. Hand her over."
Draven stepped out from behind the pillar.
I wrapped my fingers around his tethered wrist.
"Wren," he said.
"You said stay close."
His eyes flicked to me.
The leader saw the movement.
His face changed.
"The bond," he said. "What did you do?"
Draven's rot surged beneath his skin.
It raced from his elbow toward his shoulder.
I grabbed his arm.
Blue fire snapped across my palm and struck the black marks.
The rot stopped.
Draven's breath broke.
Every hunter on the stairs saw it.
The leader slowly lifted his rifle until the barrel pointed at my chest.
"Current-blooded," he said. "You are going to tell me how you just healed a Combine hunter, or I pull this trigger."
I raised my burning hand toward his weapon.
Draven caught me around the waist and dragged me behind him.
"Don't," he warned.
"Move."
"No."
"You can't shield me from a rifle."
"Watch me."
The leader's finger settled against the trigger.
Draven's hand tightened at my back. His mouth came close to my ear, his voice rough enough to scrape.
"When I say run, you run. When I say burn, you burn. And when I say—"
A second figure stepped onto the stairs behind the hunters, lifted a black pistol, and aimed it straight at Wren's head.
Draven saw the weapon.
His body went rigid.
"Don't—"