The hideout smelled of smoke and iron. The wooden floorboards had absorbed blood overnight, and although the fires had been extinguished, the odor clung to all the walls, the air, even the survivors themselves.
Adriana wiggled against the coarse sheets of a cot, every muscle of her screaming in agony. Her vision blurred before coming into focus on the cracked ceiling above. Dying sunlight seeped through broken shutters, speckling her face with pale stripes.
Her chest ached, her side bound and taped with bandages, and a low fever brewed just beneath her skin. But she lived.
A hand smoothed wet locks of hair from her forehead. "Hold still," Damian's voice whispered beside her.
Her heart missed a beat. She glanced over, noticing him sitting close, sleeves rolled to the elbow, forearms smeared with dried blood hers, not his. His jaw was tight, dark stubble on his face. He was a man who had not slept for days, or so he appeared.
"You need to rest as well," Adriana panted, her voice harsh.
Damian's lips curled into a humorless smile. "Rest? While you bled all over this cot? No chance." His thumb stroked her temple in a surprisingly tender touch. "You nearly didn't make it, Adriana. Do you have any idea what that did to me?"
"I made it," she panted, trying to smile faintly. "Because you didn't let me go."
For a moment, both of them were silent. The noises of the space filled the buzz of a small fire, the muffled murmurs of wounded comrades, the odd ring of a cleaning weapon. Somewhere else in the blackness, Elara sat tied, body tense, eyes downcast, wordless as stone.
Adriana's strength gave way, and she drifted back into fitful half-sleep, Damian's hand still wrapped around her own.
The survivors had grouped themselves around a worn table in the center of the room when the sun rose higher. Maps, burnt and smeared with blood, lay strewn on it. The group was smaller now faces missing, seats empty but those that were left had grim resolve in their eyes.
Damian was at the head of the table. Less a soldier, more a storm contained within a man.
"We can't stay here," he stated. His voice was level, iron-tipped. "Lucian will strike again. Harder. If we stay, this house is our grave.".
One of the younger fighters, his arm in a sling, beat his fist on the wood. "We can't move! Half the men can't walk, and the rest are on their last legs. We move now, and we'll stumble right into Lucian's ambush."
A murmur of assent went round the room. Raw, cloying fear clung to them like smoke.
Damian's gaze swept over them, flashing like a blade. "If we stay, we die like cornered animals. That is not survival it's surrender."
The air was charged with hostility until Adriana literally pushed herself upward from her cot. Every move toward the table burned as hard as walking across fire, yet she did not give up. Her presence froze the room.
"Damian's right," she said, voice thinned more than she'd prefer, but unyielding. "Lucian wants us to run. So we don't. We fight but not in mad rage. We make him suffer in ways he can't anticipate."
She told a spark of flame tossed onto barren coals. For the first time in weeks of war, hope burned in their weary eyes.
And all eyes turned then to the chained figure in the rear of the room.
Elara slowly raised her head. Her face was puffy, her mouth cracked, but her pride was still there. Even in chains, she was dignified.
"You will not live through him without me," she stated emotionlessly.
The statement pierced the room like a hurled knife.
"She's a traitor!" one man growled, leaping to his feet.
"She nearly got Adriana murdered!" another growled, hand resting on his sword.
Damian's eyes flashed with cold fury. He advanced, the shadows outlining his cheekbones. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't slit your throat now."
Elara threw her chin up, not shrinking. "Because I know Lucian's next move. You kill me, and you'll walk straight into it."
Adriana looked at her, torn. She wanted to hate Elara longed to despise her for the deceptions and half-truths but something in the woman's eyes held her back. There was fear there, entwined with something sterner: regret. Or was that just another performance?
We decide her destiny now," Adriana asserted. Her words cut through the rising agitation. "If she dies, it will be here, cleanly and with haste. If she lives, it will be under my care."
The survivors erupted into argument, cries clashing like iron on iron. Adriana's temples pounded, but she stood resolute.
"Enough!" she roared, thumping her fist on the table. There was stillness. "Lucian is departing even as we waste words. We can't kill ourselves when he'd gladly devour us. Elara lives for the moment. One lie, one gasp of treachery, and her life is mine to take."
The room vibrated with anxious agreement. Elara lowered her head, relief flashing for a moment in her eyes. "You won't regret this," she whispered.
Adriana wasn't so sure.
Deep in the shattered city, Lucian Hale stood before his hunters' council. Torches danced against the walls of stone, their glow throwing long, shattered shadows.
"They think they've lived because of me," Lucian said, tone as smooth as silk over steel. "They think victory lies in breathing one more evening."
He clasped his hands behind his back, his eyes on the map spread out across the war table. "I will school them in the art of survival."
Spies moved forward, placing sketches of Adriana's hideout on the table. Lucian stroked the lines with a gloved hand.
"Fire," he breathed. "Smoke in their lungs, terror in their veins. Break their spirit first. Their bodies will be easy.".
One of the lieutenants hesitated. "And Elara, my lord? She has not come back."
Lucian's mouth stretched into a killer's grin. "Then she has made her decision. Good. That informs me exactly where she is and exactly where to strike."
He raised a glass of red wine, its surface shimmering like hot blood in the torchlight. "This rebellion thinks it is clever. But I will trample it underfoot until only ash remains."
Night descended over the safehouse once more. The survivors disbanded, some to sleep, others to sharpen their blades or to pray through the night.
Adriana sat next to the broken window, looking out at the battered heaven. With each breath, her wounds mocked her, but her spirit blazed stronger than her pain.
Damian sat down with her, against the molding. He was a wall, silent but impenetrable.
"You think she'd lie to you?" he finally asked, gesturing toward Elara's shadow in the corner.
"I don't know," Adriana admitted. "But I do know this Lucian is on the move, and we can use any weapon we can find. Even the broken ones."
Damian regarded her, then wrapped his rough palm around hers. "Then we fight. Together. No matter what comes."
In the distance, beyond the walls of the city, the golden glow of fire flickered on the horizon. Lucian's counterattack had already commenced.
The storm was no longer coming.
It was here.