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"Move, Wren. Now." Draven grabbed the back of her coat and hauled her away from the collapsing tunnel.
A slab of brick smashed down where her head had been. Dust punched into her mouth. She hit the wall hard enough to bite her tongue, then shoved Draven's arm away.
"Take your hands off me."
"You want to argue or breathe? Pick one."
"I can do both. I am talented."
"You are bleeding."
"So are you."
His eyes dropped to her wrist. The tether between them glowed under her skin, a thin gold line running from her pulse to his. His sleeve was dark with blood near the shoulder, and black veins crawled beneath his collar like ink spilled under glass.
The tunnel groaned again.
Draven stepped in front of her. Broad shoulders. One hand on the wall. The other locked around her wrist before she could slip past him.
"Stay behind me."
"That sounded almost concerned. Should I write it down?"
"You should stop trying to get killed."
"Then stop taking me places that collapse."
His fingers tightened. Heat spread from his palm into her arm, too steady for a man who looked half poisoned from the inside out.
"The next section is unstable," he said. "We cross together."
"You mean you drag me across."
"If I have to."
Wren leaned closer, close enough to feel his breath touch the dust on her cheek. "Try it, hunter."
His jaw flexed. His gaze dropped to her mouth for half a second, then snapped back to her eyes.
"Do not make me prove how little patience I have left."
"You already proved it when you cuffed a tether to me and called it mercy."
"That tether is the only reason you are still alive."
"Funny. I was alive before you found me."
"You were being hunted by six armed men."
"And I was winning."
"You were trapped in a dead end."
"Details."
A crack split the dark ahead. The floor dropped three inches. Stone dust poured from the ceiling.
Draven pulled her against his chest.
Wren's hands landed on his coat. His body was hot beneath the fabric, too hot, and his heart beat against her palm in a hard, uneven rhythm. One beat fast. One beat slow. Then two together.
The bond copied it inside her ribs.
She shoved at him. "Do not do that."
"Do what? Keep you from falling?"
"Make me feel your heart."
"I am not making you feel anything."
"That is a lie."
For once, he did not answer.
The tunnel behind them collapsed with a roar. The only path left ran forward, through a narrow passage cut between old brick supports. Steam hissed from cracks in the floor. Every few seconds, the walls flashed with sickly blue light from buried spark lines.
Draven released her wrist but did not move away.
"Stay close," he said.
"How close?"
"Close enough that I can catch you."
"You sound worried again."
"I sound practical."
"You sound scared."
His stare went flat. "Keep walking."
Wren smiled without humor and slipped past him.
The passage squeezed her shoulders. Draven followed so close that his chest brushed her back every time the floor shifted. His hand hovered near her waist, never quite touching. That almost-touch was worse than the grip. It kept her aware of him. His warmth. His breath at the back of her neck. The tether pulling every heartbeat into one shared rhythm.
She hated that her body trusted him faster than her mind did.
"What is eating you?" she asked.
"You will need to be more specific."
"The black under your skin."
"Not now."
"You dragged me into a tunnel under the city. That is exactly when people answer questions."
"The rot is contained."
"Your hand is shaking."
"It is not."
"Your teeth are clenched."
"You are observant."
"I have had to be. People lie when they are afraid."
He caught her elbow as the passage tilted. "And you?"
"I lie when people ask stupid questions."
"You lied about the crystals."
"You lied about turning me in."
"I never said I would turn you in."
"You pointed a weapon at my throat. That counts."
"I pointed a weapon at you because you ran."
"I ran because you pointed a weapon at me."
"You are impossible."
"You are welcome."
The passage ended at a round maintenance chamber. Three iron doors stood along the far wall. Two had buckled inward. The third leaked a stream of hot vapor across the floor.
Draven pulled a metal token from inside his coat. The token carried the black crest of the Combine hunters.
Wren snatched it before he could use it.
"You still have command clearance?"
"Give it back."
"That was not an answer."
"It is not your concern."
She held the token between two fingers. "Your command wants me dead. They want every Current-blooded person dead. If this opens a door, it is absolutely my concern."
His face hardened. "You do not know what they want."
"I have watched them hang people for less than what is in my veins. I know enough."
He stepped toward her.
The chamber suddenly felt too small. His boots stopped inches from hers. Steam curled around his legs. The glow from the bond ran across both their wrists, bright enough to catch in his eyes.
"Give me the token, Wren."
"Ask nicely."
"No."
"Then take it."
His hand rose. She expected him to grab her wrist again, but he stopped before touching her. His fingers hovered beside hers, close enough for the heat to reach her skin.
"You keep testing the line," he said quietly.
"I keep looking for the part where you break."
"You will find it."
"Promise?"
His gaze held hers. The hard control in his face slipped for one breath. Under it was pain. Not the dramatic kind. The kind that made his hand curl and his shoulders lock as if his bones were trying to force their way out.
Wren's smile faded.
"Draven."
"Do not."
"You are getting worse."
"I said do not."
The token fell from her fingers when he staggered.
She caught him by the front of his coat. His weight slammed into her, and the back of her knees hit the broken door behind her.
"Sit down," she said.
"No."
"That was not a request."
"We do not have time."
"You collapse, I drag you. Sit."
He tried to push away. His palm hit the wall beside her head instead. The sound echoed through the chamber.
For one sharp second, he had her pinned between his body and the door.
His breath touched her face. His eyes were dark, pupils wide, his command seal burning faintly at his throat.
"You like ordering me around," he said.
"I like you alive. The difference is inconvenient."
"You do not like me."
"I do not have to like you to keep you from dying."
"That is not what the bond says."
The gold line between them pulsed.
Wren felt his heartbeat jump. Her own answered before she could stop it.
Draven's attention dropped to their joined wrists.
"The bond is not a feeling," she said. "It is a trap."
"Then why are you holding me?"
She looked down. Her fist was still twisted in his coat.
"Because you are heavy."
His mouth almost curved.
Almost.
Then the floor split open.
Wren dropped with a scream.
Her fingers tore free of Draven's coat. The chamber vanished above her as the broken floor gave way beneath both feet. She fell into a shaft filled with white steam and snapping blue sparks.
"Wren!"
She hit a metal platform, rolled, and slid toward the open center. Heat seared through her boots. Below, something huge turned in the dark with a grinding shriek.
"Do not move!" Draven shouted.
"I was planning to stand here and enjoy the view!"
The platform buckled.
Wren dug her fingers into a rusted grate. It tore skin from her knuckles. Steam blasted across her face, burning her eyes.
"Draven!"
"Hold on!"
"I am trying!"
"Your hand! Put it up!"
"What?"
"The tether. Now!"
She lifted her wrist. The gold line stretched between them, thinning as the platform dropped another inch.
Draven stood at the edge of the shaft. His face had gone pale. The black rot had climbed past his jaw.
"Wren, give me your hand."
"You are not close enough."
"I know."
"Then come get me."
"If I step onto that platform, we both fall."
"You said you would catch me."
"I said stay close. You never listen."
"You never stop talking."
A burst of steam hit the platform. Wren's grip slipped.
Draven pulled a knife from his belt.
"What are you doing?"
"Do not fight me."
"That is not an answer."
He dragged the blade across his wrist.
Wren saw the cut. Saw dark blood bead and run over his skin. The bond flared gold, then red.
Pain snapped through her arm.
"You absolute idiot!"
"Take my hand."
"You cut yourself to reach me?"
"Take my hand, Wren!"
The tether tightened.
Not like a chain. Like a living thing waking up.
It hooked beneath her ribs and pulled. Wren screamed as the shaft ripped her away from the grate. Her shoulder slammed against the wall. The platform dropped behind her, folding into the steam.
Draven reached down.
His fingers closed around hers.
The heat of his hand burned through the cold sweat on her palm. His grip locked hard enough to hurt.
"I have you," he said.
"You better."
"Let go of the grate."
"Absolutely not."
"Wren."
"It is the only thing keeping me from falling!"
"The platform is gone."
She looked down.
The grate had ripped loose. She was holding a fistful of metal that no longer connected to anything.
"You have got to be kidding me."
"On three."
"Do not count. Just pull."
"One—"
"I said do not—"
"Two."
He pulled.
The bond snapped tight between them. Wren flew upward, her boots striking the shaft wall. Draven caught her under the arm and dragged her onto solid stone.
They landed hard. His body covered hers, one knee braced beside her hip, his bleeding wrist pressed between them.
For several seconds, neither of them moved.
Steam rolled over their faces. His breath came rough against her cheek. Her hands were trapped between his chest and the floor, and every uneven beat beneath her palms jumped straight into her own heart.
"Get off me," she whispered.
"You are alive."
"You are bleeding on me."
"That bothers you?"
"It stains."
His eyes searched her face. "You are shaking."
"I fell down a steam shaft. What is your excuse?"
"I did not fall."
"You almost did."
"But I did not."
"Because I pulled you back."
"Because I gave you something to pull against."
The words landed between them.
His hand shifted at her side. Not a grab. Not quite a touch. His fingers rested against the thick fabric of her coat, steadying her without claiming her.
Wren should have shoved him away.
Instead, she felt the tremor in his wrist and closed her fingers around it.
"That cut needs pressure."
"I can handle it."
"Clearly. You handle everything by making it worse."
She tore a strip from the inside hem of her sleeve and wrapped it around his wrist. His skin was hot. The pulse under her fingertips jumped when she tightened the knot.
Draven watched her hands.
"You are not going to ask why I did it?"
"I know why."
"Do you?"
"You need me breathing."
"That is part of it."
Her fingers stopped.
"Part?"
He did not answer quickly enough.
The bond gave one slow pulse between them.
Wren leaned closer. "What is the other part?"
"You were falling."
"People fall every day. You do not cut open your wrist for all of them."
"You are not people."
The words came out low and rough.
Wren's throat tightened. She let go of him and pushed herself upright.
"That sounded almost sweet. Try it again and I might puke."
Draven sat back, face closed once more. "We need to move."
"You are changing the subject."
"Yes."
"Coward."
"Alive coward."
He got to his feet and offered her a hand.
Wren stared at it.
"If I take that, do not mistake it for trust."
"I will not mistake anything about you for trust."
She put her hand in his anyway.
His fingers folded around hers, warm and firm. He pulled her up, but he did not let go right away. His thumb rested over her pulse. The bond brightened under both their skin.
Wren looked at their hands.
"That was not necessary."
"You are still unsteady."
"I am fine."
"You are lying."
"You are obsessed with that word."
"You use it often."
"So do you."
A distant alarm began to throb through the walls.
Draven released her hand and turned toward the next passage.
"That is not from the city," he said.
"What is it?"
"The old mill lines."
"The spark mill?"
He looked back at her. "You know this place?"
"I know every place people abandoned and forgot to lock."
"You brought the crystals through here."
"Maybe."
"Wren."
"Do not use that voice."
"How many times?"
"Enough to keep children fed."
His expression sharpened. "The kids are at the station."
"They were."
"You said they were safe."
"They were safe when we left."
"That is not the same answer."
"Then stop asking questions you already know how to answer."
He stepped into her path. "If your people are in danger, we turn back."
"The tunnel behind us is gone."
"There is another route."
"And hunters on every street above us."
"You think I care about the hunters?"
"I think you care about your rank. Your command seal. Your precious uniform."
His face went still.
Wren tapped two fingers against the black mark at his throat. "You should be careful, Draven. That thing is glowing. Someone might think you still belong to them."
His hand closed around her wrist.
Not hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to remind her that he could.
"Do not touch the seal."
"Why? Does it bite?"
"It marks me."
"It marks you as the man who will hand me over the second this bond stops being useful."
His breath slowed. "You think I will betray you."
"I think you already did. You just have not found the right moment to admit it."
He pulled her closer until the front of her coat brushed his. His voice dropped near her ear.
"If I planned to betray you, you would not still be standing."
"That is supposed to comfort me?"
"No. It is supposed to keep you from making me angry."
"Too late."
For one second, the world narrowed to his hand around her wrist and the heat of him through their clothes. Then the alarm thudded again, harder this time.
Draven let her go.
"Stay beside me," he said.
"You keep saying that like you own the space next to me."
"Right now, I do."
He took the lead through the passage.
Wren followed because the tunnel was breaking apart and because the bond tugged her toward him with every step. She told herself it was survival. She did not look at the hand he kept behind him, waiting for hers whenever the floor shifted.
The passage sloped down. Old pipes crossed overhead. The walls changed from brick to black metal, stamped with faded warning marks. Blue light pulsed beneath the panels.
Draven stopped at a junction.
"Which way?"
"Left."
"You answered too fast."
"You asked."
"You are hiding something."
"I am hiding several things. Be specific."
A sharp metallic clatter came from the right passage.
Draven drew his weapon.
Wren grabbed his sleeve. "Not that way."
"Why?"
"Because the floor is hollow."
"How do you know?"
"Because I am the one who used to crawl through it."
"Used to?"
"You want the whole story now?"
"I want the part that keeps us alive."
"Then left."
He watched her for another beat, then pulled her with him.
The right passage exploded behind them.
Metal shards tore through the air. Draven spun and shoved Wren under his arm. Sparks struck his back and hissed against his coat.
"Are you hit?" she asked.
"No."
"That was not convincing."
"Keep moving."
"You are bleeding again."
"Keep moving, Wren."
She did. This time, she stayed close enough that her shoulder pressed against his arm.
The old mill opened ahead.
Its main chamber stretched beneath the city, crowded with dead machinery and hanging chains. Cracked crystal drums rose from the floor. Pipes vanished into the walls. Every few seconds, the buried lines flashed blue and sent a vibration through Wren's teeth.
Draven entered first, weapon raised.
"Nix?" Wren called.
No answer.
She stepped past him.
"Do not."
"He could be here."
"That is why you stay behind me."
"You cannot keep putting your body between me and every danger."
"Watch me."
"You are not my keeper."
"No. I am the reason you are not dead."
"You keep saying that like you want me grateful."
"I want you obedient for five minutes."
"Then you picked the wrong woman."
They crossed the chamber together, their footsteps swallowed by the dead machines.
Wren called again. "Nix! It is me. Answer me!"
Draven's head turned toward the far wall.
"Wait."
He lifted one hand.
Wren held her breath.
At first, she heard only the mill's deep mechanical groan. Then a soft, uneven tapping came through the wall.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
A heartbeat.
Wren moved toward it.
Draven caught her around the waist and pulled her back against him.
"Do not run toward a sound you cannot see."
"Let go."
"No."
"Draven."
"There may be a trap."
"There may be a child on the other side of that wall."
"Then we reach him carefully."
His arm stayed locked around her middle. His chest pressed to her back. The bond matched the pounding in both their ribs, two pulses forcing the same rhythm.
Wren put her hand over his forearm.
"If Nix is hurt—"
"We get him out."
"If your command took him—"
"Then I deal with my command."
"You mean that?"
"Do I look like I am joking?"
She turned her head. His mouth was close to her temple. His grip shifted, just enough to give her room to breathe.
"You look like a man with too many secrets."
"So do you."
"Maybe we deserve each other."
His eyes met hers.
The words hung there, too honest and too dangerous.
Then the heartbeat stopped.
Wren froze.
"Nix?"
Nothing.
She shoved free and ran to the wall. "Nix! Nix, answer me!"
Draven reached her a second later. He caught her shoulder before she could claw at the metal.
"Do not touch it."
"His heart stopped."
"I know."
"You know? You can hear it too?"
"The bond carries more than your pulse."
"You knew that and did not tell me?"
"I did not know what it would reach."
"You always have an excuse."
"And you always wait until the worst second to demand answers."
A deep lock shifted inside the wall.
Both of them turned.
The metal doors at the far end of the mill unlocked one by one.
Clunk.
Clunk.
Clunk.
Wren's breath caught.
The center door had no handle. No window. Only a black Combine command seal fixed above the frame.
Draven went rigid.
"That is yours," Wren said.
He did not answer.
"Draven. That is your seal."
"Stay behind me."
"You brought them here."
"I did not."
"Then why is your command mark on a door in a dead spark mill?"
His hand rose toward the seal.
The bond between them flashed so brightly that the entire chamber lit up.
Behind the door, something struck the metal once.
Wren grabbed Draven's arm. "Do not open it."
He looked down at her hand, then at the sealed door.
"Nix is inside."
"You do not know that."
"I heard him."
"And now his heart has stopped."
"Move."
"No."
"Wren."
"You open that door, and whatever your command put in there gets out."
His expression changed. Not surprise. Recognition.
Wren saw it and stepped closer.
"You know what is behind it."
"I know what the seal means."
"Tell me."
"I cannot."
"You can, or I break your wrist and run."
"You will not get far."
"Try me."
The door clicked.
A thin line of blue light appeared beneath it.
Draven's command seal began to burn red.
Wren pressed her palm against his chest, searching for the rhythm that had been keeping her steady since the shaft. His heart hammered beneath her hand.
"If you open that door," she said, "you choose them over me."
His hand covered hers.
Warm. Shaking. Trapped between her palm and the seal's rising glow.
"If I do not open it, Nix dies."
"And if you do?"
He stared at the door.
Another strike hit from the other side.
The metal bowed outward.
Draven drew his blade and reached for the seal.
Wren caught his wrist.
"Tell me what you did to Nix—"