Chapter 11 · The Seventh Lock

"Move your hand, Lena." Cade pinned her wrist to the archive table. His other hand closed around the knife at her belt. "Or I break it before the hunters find us."

"You're bleeding on my evidence."

"You're worried about paper?"

"I'm worried about the only thing keeping us alive." She twisted hard. His grip tightened, hot and brutal around her skin. "Let go."

Cade leaned closer. His breath brushed her cheek. He smelled like iron, smoke, and the sharp medicinal paste she'd shoved into his wound three minutes ago.

"You pulled a glass blade on me," he said. "That usually earns a broken wrist."

"You sent me to the execution block nine times. Don't pretend we're negotiating over manners."

His eyes went flat.

Good. That landed.

Lena drove her knee toward his ribs. Cade caught her thigh with his leg and shoved her back against the table.

Wood cracked beneath her spine. A row of sealed spirit files slid toward the edge.

"Quiet," he warned.

"Make me."

For half a second, neither of them moved.

His hand still circled her wrist. His body blocked the narrow gap between the shelves. Heat pressed through their clothes.