Long-press a paragraph to send danmaku
“Run, Wren. Don’t look back.”
Draven shoved her through the service gate just as the purge cannon fired.
White fire slammed into the alley behind them. The blast hit the metal walls hard enough to fold them inward. Wren caught herself on one hand, skidded across broken stone, and spun around.
“Draven!”
He was still in the alley.
The hunter stood between her and the blast, one arm raised, his black coat snapping in the pressure wave. The tether around their wrists flashed blue-white. It pulled tight between them like a live wire.
“Move!” he shouted.
“I’m not leaving you!”
“That wasn’t a suggestion.”
The purge wave struck him.
Draven’s body jerked. A sharp crack snapped through the alley. He dropped to one knee, his gloved hand digging into the stones. The light crawled over his shoulders, found the dark veins climbing his neck, and burned there.
Wren’s bond-mark flared.
Pain punched through her chest. Not her pain. His.
She grabbed the tether with both hands. “Get away from it!”
“Stay back!”
“You take one more hit and I’m dragging you out myself.”
“You weigh half of what I do.”
“I can still drag you.”
His head lifted. Even through the white glare, she saw his mouth twitch.
Then the cannon charged again.
Draven pushed off the ground and crossed the distance in three strides. He caught Wren around the waist, turned, and drove them both behind a concrete support as the second blast tore across the alley.
The impact threw them into the wall.
Wren’s back hit first. Draven’s chest slammed against hers a second later, pinning her between him and the concrete. His arm locked beside her head. His breath scraped hot across her cheek.
For one stupid second, she noticed everything—the heat of his body, the rough fabric of his coat against her ribs, the hard line of his jaw inches from hers.
Then she smelled burned metal.
“Your shoulder,” she said.
“Still attached.”
“Barely.”
“Then stop staring at it.”
“I’m deciding whether to cut it off.”
“Use your left hand. Your right is chained to mine.”
The tether pulsed between them.
Wren looked down. Their marks were still glowing beneath the cuffs, two thin rings of ancient symbols circling their wrists. Every pulse matched. His heartbeat. Hers. One rhythm where there should have been two.
She yanked her arm. “Take this thing off.”
Draven caught her wrist before she could twist the cuff. His fingers closed around her skin, firm and warm despite the purge burn eating through his coat.
“If I could take it off, I would.”
“You’re a Combine hunter. You carry keys for everything.”
“Not for a life-bond.”
“Don’t call it that.”
“What should I call the chain wrapped around our bones?”
“A mistake.”
“That’s the nicest name you’ve given it.”
Another cannon pulse shook the gate.
Draven glanced over his shoulder. Three figures moved through the smoke at the far end of the alley. Gray armor. Silver masks. Purge rifles raised.
“Can you run?” he asked.
“Can you?”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Then ask a better one.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth for half a second. It was quick. So quick she could have imagined it, except the bond gave a hard, hot beat against her wrist.
“Can you trust me for thirty seconds?” he asked.
Wren laughed once. “You put a leash on me.”
“I put a leash on myself.”
“You dragged me into a citywide manhunt.”
“I kept you alive.”
“You kept me alive so my blood could keep you alive.”
His jaw tightened.
There it was. The thing neither of them wanted to say out loud. Her blood slowed the rot in him. His command wanted her dead. If they separated, he might collapse. If she stayed close, every hunter in the city would follow the bond straight to her.
Draven leaned closer, his voice dropping beneath the alarms.
“Thirty seconds, Wren. You can hate me after.”
“I already hate you.”
“Good. Hold on to that.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward a narrow maintenance tunnel cut into the wall. Wren stumbled after him, shoulder brushing his back. The tether stayed tight, forcing their steps together.
“Faster,” he said.
“I’m moving.”
“You’re limping.”
“Your fault.”
“Everything is my fault now?”
“Ask the people shooting at us.”
A purge round struck the tunnel entrance. The stone burst apart. Draven turned and covered Wren with his body, taking the spray of shards across his back.
She shoved at him. “Stop doing that!”
“Stop standing where the bullets are.”
“There are bullets everywhere!”
“Then stay behind me.”
“I don’t follow orders from men who lie to my face.”
“I haven’t lied.”
“You said Command would protect us.”
“I said Command would protect me.”
That stopped her.
Draven seized the moment and pushed her deeper into the tunnel. The air turned close and hot. Pipes ran along the ceiling, shaking with each distant blast. They passed a maintenance ladder, a locked hatch, and a dead control panel with the Combine seal stamped across it.
Wren caught his sleeve. “You knew they’d mark you contaminated.”
“I knew they’d mark me the second I refused to turn you in.”
“You still brought me here.”
“I had nowhere else to go.”
“You’re the famous Draven Kessler. The Combine’s favorite knife. You had options.”
His hand closed over hers on his sleeve. “Not after you touched me.”
The words landed harder than they should have.
Wren pulled free. “That sounds like an excuse.”
“It’s a warning.”
“About what?”
He stopped so suddenly she walked into him. His back was broad enough to block the tunnel. He turned, and the space between them vanished.
“About the bond,” he said.
His voice had gone rough. “Every time you get hurt, I feel it. Every time I use power, it moves through you. If I lose control, you pay for it.”
“So control yourself.”
“I’m trying.”
His eyes held hers. Too close. His breath warmed the corner of her mouth. The tether between their wrists tightened until their hands nearly touched.
Wren swallowed. “You’re doing a terrible job.”
“Then tell me what you feel.”
She went still.
He lifted their joined wrists. The marks brightened. “You feel that?”
“Get your hand off me.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
“Liar.”
The bond pulsed again. This time, Wren felt more than pain. She felt the pressure behind his ribs. The cold fear he kept buried under orders and steel. The rot. It moved like black fire through him, chewing away at something he refused to name.
She ripped her gaze from his face. “You’re burning.”
“I know.”
“No. You don’t. You’re worse than you were in the cage.”
“I know that too.”
“Then why are you still standing?”
“Because you’re still here.”
Silence hit harder than the cannon fire.
Wren stared at him.
Draven released her wrist first. “Don’t make that face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you start thinking I’m not completely awful.”
“Relax. I’m still deciding where to stab you.”
“Good.”
He turned and kept moving.
Wren followed because the bond gave her no choice. Also because the hunters were still behind them. She told herself that twice. It didn’t make the lie better.
The tunnel ended at a rusted hatch. Draven shoved his shoulder into it. Nothing happened.
“Move,” Wren said.
“You’re welcome to try.”
She stepped around him and pressed her palm to the lock. A spark flickered beneath her skin.
Draven’s hand closed around her elbow. “No.”
“Let go.”
“Your power will light up every sensor in the district.”
“We’re already being chased by purge rifles.”
“And the lock is wired to the outer watchtower. You open it, Command gets our exact position.”
Wren looked at the hatch. Then at him. “You knew that too?”
“I read the maps before I stole the transport.”
“You stole a transport?”
“Do you want to argue about the word, or do you want to live?”
“Both.”
“Later.”
The hunters hit the tunnel behind them. Metal groaned. Someone shouted through a mask.
“Hunter Kessler! Step away from the Current-blooded!”
Wren’s fingers curled. “They know what I am.”
“They know what Command told them.”
“Is there a difference?”
“There is if you want to survive.”
Draven pulled a short blade from his belt and jammed it into the hatch seam. He twisted. The lock sparked.
Wren caught his arm. “You said no power.”
“I’m not using yours.”
The rot crawled higher along his neck. His breath hitched, but he kept working.
“Draven.”
“Don’t.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I said don’t.”
The hatch burst open. He shoved Wren through first, then followed and slammed it shut behind them. A second later, the hunters reached the other side.
The metal door bucked under a purge rifle strike.
They were inside an abandoned freight lift. Crates filled one corner. A control chain hung from the ceiling. Draven grabbed it and pulled.
The lift dropped.
Wren hit the floor hard. Draven fell over her, one palm braced beside her head. His face was inches away again.
“Get off,” she snapped.
“You’re welcome.”
“You keep saying that like you’ve earned it.”
“You keep surviving because of me.”
“I keep surviving despite you.”
The lift jolted. His palm slid across the floor, and his shoulder pressed against hers. Heat soaked through her shirt. The bond caught his pain and shoved it into her chest.
Wren clenched her teeth. “You’re going to pass out.”
“Not yet.”
“Your rot is spreading.”
“Then keep your heartbeat steady.”
She stared at him. “What?”
“Your panic is feeding it.”
“I’m not panicking.”
“You’re lying again.”
“Maybe I’m angry.”
“Your pulse says otherwise.”
“Stop listening to my pulse.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
The lift dropped another level. Somewhere above them, metal screamed as the hunters cut through the hatch.
Draven pushed himself up. He looked worse now. The burned side of his coat had split open at the shoulder, revealing scorched fabric and angry red marks beneath. Wren reached for him before she could stop herself.
His eyes dropped to her hand.
“Don’t,” he said.
“Your shoulder needs—”
“Don’t touch me unless you mean to share the pain.”
Her hand stopped in the air.
The space between them tightened.
Wren lowered her voice. “You think I’m scared of your pain?”
“No. I think you’re scared of what happens when you care.”
She slapped him.
The sound cracked inside the lift.
Draven’s face turned with the blow. He slowly looked back at her.
“Feel better?”
“No.”
“Try again.”
“I should’ve hit harder.”
“You can.”
The words were quiet. Not permission. A challenge.
Wren shoved him back against the lift wall. The tether pulled their wrists together, forcing her close. His hand caught her waist before she lost balance. His palm spread against her side through the rough fabric of her coat.
“Don’t touch me,” she warned.
“Then stop pushing me.”
“I’ll push you wherever I want.”
“Careful.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s the only warning you’re getting.”
His thumb pressed once against her ribs. The contact was small, almost nothing. Her breath caught anyway.
Draven noticed.
His gaze sharpened. “There.”
“Don’t.”
“You felt it.”
“I felt your hand.”
“Same thing now.”
She hated that he was right. Hated the warmth of his fingers. Hated how the bond carried his heartbeat into her wrist and made it impossible to pretend he was just a hunter, just an enemy, just the man who had put iron around her.
The lift slammed to a stop.
Draven released her and drew his pistol.
Wren reached for the spark crystal hidden inside her sleeve. “Who’s outside?”
“Could be patrols.”
“Could be?”
“Stay behind me.”
“Try giving me a useful order.”
He stepped in front of the doors. “When they open, you take the left passage. Don’t use your power unless I tell you.”
“And you?”
“I’ll make noise.”
“You’re already good at that.”
His mouth tightened. “Wren.”
The way he said her name cut through the sarcasm.
She looked at him.
“Trust me for ten seconds,” he said.
“No.”
“Then trust the bond.”
“I trust nothing that came from you.”
His eyes held hers. “That’s not true.”
The lift doors exploded inward.
Draven fired twice. A guard dropped behind the first crate. Another rushed through the gap with a purge blade raised.
Wren kicked the guard’s knee and drove her elbow into his mask. He staggered. Draven caught the back of her coat and pulled her away as a third shot struck the floor where her foot had been.
“Left!” he shouted.
She ran left.
The passage opened into a loading yard beneath the city wall. Searchlights cut through the dark. Alarm bells hammered from the towers. The outer gate stood twenty yards away, already closing.
“Draven!”
“Keep moving!”
They sprinted together, the tether jerking their arms in rhythm. He fired over his shoulder. Wren threw a spark at the gate controls, not enough to trigger the whole system, just enough to make the lock cough and release.
The gate stopped halfway.
“Go!” she yelled.
Draven grabbed her hand and pulled her under the gate.
A cannon charged behind them.
Wren heard the rising whine. She turned.
The purge rifle aimed straight at her chest.
Draven saw it too.
“No!” she shouted.
He stepped in front of her.
The blast hit him at point-blank range.
His body folded. The bond screamed through Wren’s arm, sending heat and pain up to her shoulder. She caught him before he struck the ground.
“Draven!”
Not hunter. Not traitor. His name tore out of her.
His weight crashed against her. She dropped to her knees, dragging him behind the broken gate as another shot burned a line across the stones.
“Look at me,” she said. “Draven, look at me.”
His eyes opened. One was clear. The other had gone dark around the edges.
“Still bossy,” he rasped.
“You took the blast.”
“You were in the way.”
“I was behind you.”
“Exactly.”
She pressed both hands to his chest, trying to hold him still. The bond-mark on his wrist burned against hers. Their pulses stumbled, then locked together again.
Wren’s breath shook. “Don’t you dare die.”
“Wasn’t planning to.”
“Good, because I’m not carrying you.”
“You are.”
“I hate you.”
“Say it again.”
“I hate you.”
His fingers closed around hers. Weak, but deliberate.
“Louder.”
She leaned over him, face hot, eyes burning. “I hate you, you arrogant—”
The bond changed.
A new heartbeat struck inside her chest.
Small. Fast. Terrified.
Wren froze.
Draven felt it too. His grip tightened around her hand.
“That’s not mine,” he said.
“No.”
“Yours?”
“No.”
The child’s heartbeat raced through the tether, too quick and thin. Wren tasted copper. Her fingers went numb.
Then came a sound beneath the pulse.
A muffled sob.
Wren turned toward the dark fields beyond the city wall.
“No,” she whispered.
Draven pushed himself up on one elbow. “What is it?”
“That’s home.”
“Your home?”
“The house.”
His face hardened. “The children?”
The heartbeat stumbled again.
Wren tried to stand. Her knees buckled. Draven caught her around the waist, pulling her against him before she hit the ground.
“Easy.”
“Let go.”
“You can’t stand.”
“They found them.”
“Who?”
“Command.”
The word barely left her mouth before the bond flashed red.
Far beyond the wall, another heartbeat joined the first. Then another.
Three children. Huddled together. Running footsteps. A door slamming. Someone shouting her name.
Wren gripped Draven’s coat. “They found the house.”
His arm locked around her back, keeping her upright. His breath touched her temple.
“Then we go back,” he said.
“You can barely walk.”
“I didn’t say we’d walk.”
“They’ll kill you.”
“They’ll kill them first.”
Wren looked up at him. “You’re asking me to trust you?”
“No.”
His eyes dropped to their joined wrists, where the bond pulsed with the children’s terror.
“I’m telling you to choose.”
Behind them, the city gates began to open. Hunters poured into the field, rifles raised. Ahead, through the bond, one child screamed.
Draven pulled Wren toward the black road leading back to the city.
“Wait,” she said.
He stopped.
Her hand tightened around his. “If we go back, we don’t get another escape.”
“I know.”
“And if this is a trap—”
“It is.”
“You sound very calm about that.”
“I’m not calm.”
The child’s heartbeat slammed against hers again.
Draven stepped closer, forehead almost touching hers. “Tell me where your home is, Wren, and I’ll get you there before they—”