Page 145 of Hidden Echoes

I slow, my fingers unconsciously tightening around Zane’s. My attention drifts from our hands to the trees around us. Something feels… off.

Zane notices immediately.

"What?" His voice is quiet, but alert.

I scan the tree line, my heart picking up speed. "I don’t know. It’s just—" I frown, my skin prickling. "It feels like we’re not alone."

Zane’s expression sharpens in an instant. His posture shifts from relaxed to ready, muscles tense beneath his hoodie. His eyes follow mine, scanning the area.

Silence. Only the wind and the rustling leaves.

But the feeling won’t go away.

“Little Angel,” I call out. “Stay close behind me.”

Zane grumbles something about letting him protect me for once, but I barely pay attention. The nickname slips from my lips naturally now, a habit formed in the short time we've known each other.

Maybe it’s the way the light catches his features, softening the edges, making him look almost ethereal—like an angel. He’s always had that calm, otherworldly aura, ever since the first moment we met.

I don’t know if I’ve ever explained that to him. Maybe Ishould. Maybe not.

My fingers tighten around the knife in my hand, the cool weight grounding me. I don’t remember drawing it, but my body reacts before my mind catches up. The air is thick, pressing in from all sides, every shadow between the trees stretching a little too far. Something lurks just beyond my sight, watching, waiting.

Beside me, Zane moves with quiet precision, his posture unreadable. There’s no hesitation in the way he shifts his stance, controlled and deliberate.

A click, faint but unmistakable.

Realization settles over me like ice.

He brought a gun.

My pulse thrums, not with fear, but with something far more intoxicating. Anticipation.

“I’ll admit something,” I whisper, barely containing my excitement. “I secretly hope it’s someone bad. It’sbeen too long since I had any real fun.”

Zane lets out a sigh that’s both exasperated and resigned. We’ve had this conversation before—how my idea of fun and his don’t exactly align. I think he’s finally come to terms with the fact that I find joy in things that most people would recoil from. I’m mostly harmless. I haven’t killed someone in a year now.

The second the movement becomes clearer,I throw my knife.

It slices through the air with satisfying precision, and when I step forward to see the damage, my breath catches.

Not because I’mafraid.

Because I recognize the person slumped on the ground.

“Crybaby?” The name slips out before I can stop it.

Zane tenses beside me. “He’sfrom Evermore. My brother must have sent him to track me down.”

I shake my head, something cold and distant clawing at my memories. My mind doesn’t work the way other people’s do. Sometimes, I forget things. Sometimes, I remember things too late. But this… this is something I’vealways known.

“No,” I whisper, stepping closer to the unconscious figure. My heart hammers, and I feel something strange—something foreign—tightening in my chest. A pull, like a string connecting me to him. “Uno.”

Zane stiffens. “What?”

My fingers brush against the side of his face, tilting it toward the moonlight. His breathing is slow, steady, despite the tranquilizer in his system. The eyes, even shut, are unmistakable.

“I’d never mistake One’s eyes.” My voice is steadier than I feel.

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