Chapter 18 · A Deal Under the Ice

"Doesn't matter what he calls himself." The voice bounced off ice walls, getting closer. "The captain saw the way he moved in the semifinals."

Eliza pressed her back against the frozen stone, one hand clamped over her mouth. The tunnel reeked of old blood and rust. Her boots slipped on the slick floor. The parchment Valen had given her two nights ago said left fork. She was betting her life he wasn't wrong.

"Could be coincidence," the second guard said.

"Could be. Or he's one of the old blood." The first voice dropped. "Gareth wants him checked before the final. If he's got the mark, we burn it out again."

Eliza's pulse hammered. She slid deeper into shadow as two guards passed within ten feet. One carried a torch. The other had a coil of chain over his shoulder, the links glowing faint blue.

Ice chain. The kind that didn't just restrain—it fed on body heat until you stopped moving.

She waited. Counted to twenty. Then ran.

—

"Up."

Valen didn't move. He sat on the stone bench they'd shoved him onto an hour ago, wrists still raw from the iron cuffs.