Chapter 13 · The Relay's Claim

"Don't finish that sentence." The bloody hand clamped tighter around my wrist. "If you're here with him, run. Now."

"Get your hand off her."

Dorian's voice came from behind me—rough, low, and way too close.

The half-open vault door shuddered between us. His palm held it back from slamming shut. Blood soaked the side of his uniform beneath his ribs, and every breath pulled the rejected mark wider across his collarbone.

The stranger dragged me closer.

"You brought him here?" he rasped.

"He followed me," I snapped. "There's a difference."

Dorian's eyes dropped to my wrist. The stranger's fingers had dug into the old disaster mark there—the pale scar I'd carried since the East District collapse.

It should've been numb.

Instead, it burned beneath his touch.

"Mara." Dorian's voice sharpened. "Step away from the door."

"I'm trying. Your mystery corpse has a grip like iron."

"I'm not a corpse." The stranger coughed blood onto the floor. "And he's not your protector."

Dorian's jaw locked. "You have three seconds to release her."

"Or what?