Chapter 13 · The Price of a Memory

"Don't move. Not a muscle," the Inquisitor barked.

Nora froze. The tip of a silver-etched rapier was pressed hard against her throat. It hummed—a low, oppressive vibration that made her teeth ache.

Behind her, Kane was a wall of heat. He was so close she could feel the warmth radiating off his chest, nearly brushing her shoulder blades. Ozone and old leather. He smelled like a storm about to break, cutting through the cloying rot of the tomb.

"You're out of time, Vey," the Inquisitor sneered. He had a face like a hatchet and eyes that stripped her bare, searching for the unstable magic that had made her a legend in the underground. "Step away from the fugitive. Maybe we'll let you keep your tongue."

"Get bent," Nora spat. She shifted her weight, boots crunching on dry earth. "You're blocking the exit. That's rude, even for royal dogs."

Kane’s hand clamped onto her wrist. Not a gentle touch—it was a claim. He stepped forward, shielding her with his bulk.

"She doesn't step anywhere," Kane growled, his voice dropping an octave, "until I say so."

"Still playing the protector, Rook?" The Inquisitor let out a dry, rattling laugh.