The light didn't come from above. It came from him.
A cold glow that refracted in the droplets on his jacket, as if he hadn't found the light but captured it. Malrik stood in the middle of the embankment, hands casually in his pockets, as if the road, the rain, the time belonged to him.
Rhea whispered: "Don't speak."
Alaric breathed once, long and deep. "Otherwise he won't let us go."
"He'll never let us go," Rhea replied, her eyes fixed on the lamp burning between them. It flickered briefly, like a heart that stumbles.
Lina felt the tension in the vehicle like electricity. The metal beneath her fingers vibrated, the smell of wet electronics mingled with blood and oil. Outside, Malrik took a step forward. No sound. Just a shadow drawing closer.
"I said," he said, almost friendly, "we're losing time."
