Chapter 109 – Fire in the Hollow
The air inside Black Hollow carried a weight that even the fire couldn't warm. The glow from the flames painted the jagged stone walls in shades of copper and blood, flickering shadows dancing like restless ghosts. Kairo stood near the entrance, one hand resting on the cold rock, his other curled loosely around the grip of his pistol.
Elira sat a few feet away, her coat drying slowly in the heat, her eyes fixed not on the fire, but on him. She'd seen him this way before—still, almost statuesque, like a predator frozen in the moment before the strike.
The overhang had shielded them from the wind, but not from the knowledge that Feretti's men were still closing in. They had gained only hours, and hours could be stolen in a heartbeat.
"You're listening for them," Elira said quietly.
Kairo's head tilted slightly, not toward her, but toward the soundless dark beyond the firelight. "I'm listening for what I can't hear. The ones who hunt well don't leave noise behind."
Her brow furrowed. "So you think they're already close?"
"I think they're smart enough not to announce themselves until it's too late."
The fire popped sharply, making her flinch. Kairo's gaze slid to her then, and something softened in his expression, as if he regretted the sharp edge in his words. He crossed to her, crouching so they were level.
"You're still cold."
She wanted to deny it, but her trembling fingers betrayed her. "We crossed a river in the middle of the night, Kairo. You think I'm going to be fine in an hour?"
He smirked faintly, but his eyes stayed serious. Without a word, he shrugged out of his heavier coat and draped it around her shoulders. The warmth from it was immediate, carrying faint traces of smoke, leather, and him.
"This'll slow you down," she said.
"I'll be fine."
There was a tension in the air now that wasn't just the threat outside. The firelight caught the faint scar that ran from the edge of his jaw to under his ear, and she found herself wondering, not for the first time, how many moments like this—waiting, hiding, planning—had shaped the man before her.
He must have felt her eyes linger, because his voice dropped lower, quieter. "You want to ask me something."
Elira hesitated, then: "Why keep me here at all? You could have left me in the village with that stranger. Let him deal with me. He wanted you, not me."
Kairo's jaw tightened, but he didn't look away. "That's not how this works."
"What works? Survival?"
His eyes locked onto hers, and the fire's reflection made them seem sharper. "If you want to survive in my world, you don't hand people over to be someone else's problem. You finish what you start. And I started this the day you walked into my line of fire."
Her breath caught. "And when you're done with what you started?"
For a moment, neither moved. Then he straightened, turning back toward the mouth of the hollow. "Then we'll see if there's anything left worth keeping."
The words should have felt cold, but something in the way he said them left her unsettled in a different way.
Hours passed in uneasy silence, broken only by the occasional snap of the fire and the soft whisper of wind outside. Around the third hour, Kairo's head came up sharply.
"What is it?" she asked.
He raised a hand for silence. Then—faint, but unmistakable—the crunch of snow. Not from the slope they'd climbed, but from the ridge above. Whoever was coming had chosen the high ground, which meant they knew this hollow existed.
Kairo doused the fire in one swift motion, plunging them into darkness. "Pack up. Now."
Elira shoved her arms through her coat, her fingers clumsy but quick. "How many?"
"Two… maybe three. Spread out. They're testing for an opening."
"Testing?"
"Finding the one we'd take to run—and cutting it off."
They moved silently to the back of the hollow, where a narrow crevice wound upward through the rock. It wasn't much more than a crack, but it led to a ridge that would let them circle behind anyone trying to trap them.
Halfway up, Elira's boot slipped on frost-slick stone. Kairo's hand shot out, gripping her arm so tightly it almost hurt. He steadied her without a word, then pressed a finger to his lips.
Voices drifted in now—low, male, speaking in the clipped rhythm of professionals who didn't waste breath.
Feretti's men.
Kairo's grip on her arm eased, but his other hand shifted to his pistol. He leaned close enough for his breath to brush her ear. "Keep moving. If we're lucky, they won't expect us above them."
"And if we're not lucky?" she whispered.
"Then we change the odds."
When they reached the top, the night opened wide around them—black sky heavy with stars, the valley far below like a shadowed ocean. From this vantage, they could see the figures moving cautiously toward the hollow, unaware of the hunters above.
Kairo's voice was barely a breath. "Three of them. We can pass without drawing fire if we stay in shadow."
Elira's pulse pounded in her ears. "And if they look up?"
Kairo's smirk returned, faint and dangerous. "Then I stop being quiet."
They began their silent descent along the far side of the ridge, the wind carrying away the sound of their boots. For the moment, the night held them, and Feretti's men searched the wrong darkness.
But Elira knew—this was only a borrowed reprieve.
And borrowed time always came due.