The cellar was permeated with the scent of smoke and charred stone. Even underneath layers of wet earth and mortar, the air contained the echo of the warehouse blast a bitter memory none of them could wash from their lungs. Adriana's ears continued to ring from the clang of falling beams and screaming men.
She leaned back against the cold wall, hands shivering as she tried to wrap the gash down her thigh. The fabric was hard with blood. With each knot tied, she recalled that she had lost nearly all of her blood prior to Damian pulling her out of the wreck.
Damian stayed back, silent but alert, his tunic torn and sooted with stains. He stank of iron and smoke, his eyes being worn out. A streak of dry blood ran along his temple, yet he did not notice. His fists clenched restlessly as though craving something to break.
"Let me do it," he growled finally, crouching to release the bandage from her fingers. His voice was gruffer than usual, strained.
Adriana swallowed the lump from her throat. "You're more injured than I am."
"That's not true." His jaw clenched. He tied the bandage firmly, his fingers unsteady though his shoulders shuddered with quake. "You almost killed yourself in there. If I'd been a step behind."
"You didn't." She looked into his eyes, keeping her voice firm. "You got me out. You always do."
The air between them was thickening with unwritten words. His hand lay at the knee, refusing to let go of her. For an instant, Adriana thought he might finally speak the words that had hung on his lips in the crypts of the chapel, the words she longed to hear and yet dared not command.
He didn't. He stood up sharply, turning to the others.
Julian slouched over a radio salvaged from the wreckage, wringing static out of shredded bits of information. His face was white, his eyes bloodshot. Every hiss of distorted signal seemed to be another nail hammered into his already frayed patience.
"We lost six men in that blast," he snapped. "Six good men because we trusted her.".
"She fooled us all," the mercenary growled in the shadows. His arm was in a sling, his face twisted with resentment. "Elara was always so slick. Should have killed her when we had the chance."
"She earned her place," Adriana answered firmly. Her words cut through the air like a blade, but in her heart she continued to bleed at the thought of betrayal. "She fought with us. She saved lives before she took them."
"Saved them for Lucian to kill later," another taunted.
Damian raised a hand, silencing the growing growls. His gaze was sharp, commanding. "Enough. We can mourn the dead without tearing the living apart. Elara's betrayal is on Lucian's shoulders. Not ours."
"But she was inside," Julian argued. His fists clenched around the radio, bone-white. "She knew our paths, codes, fall-backs. Lucian knows them all now. He'll attack us before we can blink."
The truth lingered heavy. Adriana understood it, sensed it in the marrow of her bones. Lucian was not the kind to waste information. He would already be turning Elara's treachery into a blade intended specifically for their hearts.
Miles off, in the iron-topped spire that had disfigured the skyline, Lucian Hale loomed over a glass and map-covered table. Lantern light cast the sharp angles of his face into relief. At his feet, Elara knelt, wrists bound in golden cuffs that shone softly with magic.
"You did well," Lucian said to him, his tone soft, on the edge of fond. He traced the path of one of his fingers over the crimson ink circles which marked Damian's final known strongholds. "You gave me their veins. Now I just have to cut."
Elara flinched. "I didn't hurt them. Only"
"Lies," Lucian said softly, but his voice was more menacing than a bellow. "You sought redemption. And I gave it to you. Their deaths will buy forgiveness."
He turned to his captains, his cloak sliding like the forked tongue of a serpent. "Double the guard. Shut the riverways. Torch the safe houses. When Damian and Adriana reappear, I want the city itself to kill them."
The captains bowed. Orders ran outward in waves like fire in dry grass.
Lucian grinned faintly, his eyes already enjoying the kill.
In the cellar, Adriana stood before the map table, following the smudged pencil lines they had drawn out days ago. Their gingerly infiltration routes, their decoys they all seemed dust now.
We can't keep running," she whispered. Her voice was shaking, but not with fear. With resolve. "Every step back gives him ground. We have to make the first move."
Julian's eyes leapt up. "Move? We don't even know what he does know. We could be walking into a trap.".
"Then we plant one under our own," Adriana shot back. She smoothed out her hand on the map. "We get him thinking that Elara has given it all to him. And then we acquaint him with the fact that he knows nothing."
Damian looked at her, his eyes narrowing with wonder and concern. "You're proposing bait."
"I'm proposing survival," she said to him. "Lucian sustains himself on control. We take that away from him. We release false intelligence convoys, secure safe houses, breakout tunnels. Have him react against ghosts while we strike where it matters."
The silence that followed was tense. Slowly, the mercenaries nodded. Even Julian, as reluctant as he was, bent over the map and began scribbling false routes with trembling hands.
Damian moved closer to Adriana, his shoulder brushing hers. His voice was pitched low, meant only for her. "You're gambling everything."
"I don't have the luxury of fear," she murmured back.
His hand brushed against hers on the table, a fleeting touch that carried the weight of an oath. "Then I'll gamble with you."
That night, Adriana slept not. The cellar walls shut in upon her, heavy with grief and suspicion. She entered the next room, where a single lantern burned on the flagstone ledge.
Damian stood there, sharpening his knife. His strokes were deliberate, painful, as if each sweep of steel upon whetstone rubbed away his weariness.
"You must sleep," Adriana whispered.
He didn't look at her. "Sleep won't hold him at bay."
"No. But it might keep you from breaking."
He raised his head at that. His eyes were storm-tossed seas, dark and churning. "I can't afford to break. Not when you" He cut himself off, jaw clenching.
Adriana stepped closer, her heart pounding. "Not when I what?"
For a moment, silence stretched taut as a bowstring. His lips parted, a confession trembling at the edge. Then he shook his head, sheathing the blade with a sharp motion.
"When you're depending on me," he said instead.
Her heart ached with so much unsaid. She longed to scream at him to stop holding back, to tell her what was in his eyes every time he looked at her. She could do no more than whisper, "We rely on one another."
And that was as close as they came.
By dawn, false rumors had been sown. Victor, slick as a snake, carried whispers among Lucian's soldiers, trading secrets for money he did not care for. Patrols were realigned. Convoy routes were altered.
Adriana stood in the high slit window, watching the sun bleeding across the broken horizon. Her bandaged leg throbbed, but she did not falter, her shoulders set.
Damian joined her, the faint brush of his arm against hers grounding her. "He'll move soon," he said.
She nodded. "And when he does, we'll be ready."
But even as she spoke, a shadow crossed her chest. She could almost feel Lucian's gaze pressing against her from afar, cold and inexorable.
He knew something. He was waiting.
And when he did attack, it would not be with spies or rumors. It would be with fire.
The warning came as a tremor beneath their feet. A muted roar shook the city above, then screams that cut the stone ceiling.
Julian burst into the room, his face white. "He's here. Lucian managed to get around everything. He's not raiding our convoys he's burning the streets."
Adriana's blood turned cold. She stood facing Damian, their eyes locking in silent understanding. This was not a raid. This was war.
And they were already within the blaze.