Chapter 23 · Dad's Old File

Vera shoved me into a maintenance corridor before the Red Heron guards finished locking down the arena floor.

I didn't argue. My ribs still felt like someone had strung them with live wire, and the mark under my chest was doing that slow-burn thing it did after I pushed too hard. The judge's voice was still ringing in my ears—Gateborn—like he'd just signed my death warrant in front of half the clans.

"Move." Vera's hand was on my shoulder, grip tight enough to leave bruises. "They're going to want answers you don't have."

"I don't have any answers," I said. My voice came out rough. "What the hell is Gateborn?"

"Later." She pulled me left, down a service stairwell that smelled like rust and old disinfectant. "Right now we need to get you somewhere they can't cut you open to find out."

That was the second time today someone had mentioned cutting me open. I was starting to take it personally.

The stairwell dumped us into a sub-level that looked like it hadn't seen maintenance in decades. Flickering glowstones, cracked tile, water damage eating through the walls. Vera didn't slow down.