Page 36 of Too Dangerous To Die

I flinch.

He steps forward. I see the blood, mine, theirs, his, on his skin. I see the worry he’ll never admit darkening his gaze.

“They touched your mind,” he says, low and rough. “What did you see?”

“I…” My throat closes. “I don’t know. I saw… things. Names. Places I don’t recognize. But they felt… real.”

His jaw tenses. “They are.”

“But they aren’t my memories.”

He doesn’t answer.

Because maybe they are.

Maybe they were.

MaybeI am someone else.

“I’m not her,” I whisper, trying to make myself believe it.

“You’re not,” he says too quickly. “I won’t let it be. You’re mine, and not even them can take you.”

16

RHAEGAR

The aftermath of the ambush leaves the air thick with tension. Shadows stretch long under the dim light, and the scent of disturbed earth mingles with the metallic tang of blood. Nora stands a few paces away, her breaths shallow, eyes wide with lingering shock. The name,Medea, still hangs between us, a phantom echo neither of us dares to acknowledge aloud.

"We need to move," I say, my voice rougher than intended. "Staying here is an invitation for another attack."

She nods, but there's a distance in her gaze, as if she's looking through me rather than at me. I suppress a growl of frustration. This is not the time for her to retreat into herself.

"Can you walk?" I ask, softer this time.

"I'm fine," she replies, though the tremor in her voice betrays her.

We gather our scant belongings, every rustle of fabric and clink of metal amplified in the oppressive silence. The Wastes are unforgiving, especially at night, and the Wraithborn are not known for leaving a task unfinished.

"There's a place," I begin, hesitating. "A shelter, of sorts. Not far from here. We can rest there until dawn."

She looks at me then, suspicion flickering across her features. "What kind of shelter?"

"An old ruin," I admit. "From a time long before either of us."

"Convenient," she mutters, but falls in step beside me.

The journey is silent, save for the crunch of our boots against the desolate ground. The landscape is a monochrome expanse, broken only by jagged rocks and the occasional skeletal remains of trees long dead. The wind whispers secrets I have no desire to hear.

After what feels like hours, we arrive. The entrance is unassuming, a narrow crevice between two slabs of stone, half-hidden by overgrown thornbushes. I push them aside, ignoring the sting as they scrape against my skin.

"This way," I instruct, slipping through the gap.

Inside, the air is cooler, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and something else—something ancient. I conjure a small flame in my palm, casting flickering light across the walls. Intricate carvings decorate the stone, telling stories of battles and rituals lost to time.

Nora traces a finger over one of the carvings. "What is this place?"

"A tomb," I answer, the word heavy on my tongue.

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