Page 147 of Ashes of Honor

“I don’t care.”

My focus shifted back to the surrounding chaos. The fog was closing in, eating at the camp, and I could hear more soldiers dying—ours and theirs.

“Where’s Amaia?” I demanded.

Finley’s gaze darted to me, keen and assessing. “Holding the line, obviously. Probably better than you are.”

I turned away from her, having no interest in dying by her side if this was the night I was going to have a final dance with death.

“This, unfortunately, is one of mine,” she called out, stopping me in my tracks and gesturing to the fog with her blade. “Cover your mouth,Hound. You’re not vaccinated against this one.”

“What the hell did you do?” I demanded.

She shot me an impatient stare that said I was wasting her time. “What I felt like doing, obviously. Developed it after you left. Suppose I should have mentioned this was one of those pesky design documents he stole.”

Her attention shifted back to the soldiers pressing through the fog—blade moving fast, precise, mowing them down before they could regroup.

She was good, I’d give her that. But I wasn’t relying on her to keep me alive.

A soldier charged from my left, and I spun, driving my dagger through his throat and kicking him to the ground. I kept my movements efficient. Without magic, there was no energy to waste.

I saw Finley glance at me from the corner of my eye, her lips twitching in what could have been amusement. “I missed this, you and me,” she said, skewing another attacker and driving her blade into his gut.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up and just focus on surviving?” I said, twisting my blade free from the neck of a meaty motherfucker.

“Nope.” She wiped blood from her face with the back of her hand, her expression shifting to something of a menace. “But you better hope Amaia is.”

I paid her no mind. Of course, Amaia was focused on surviving—she hadn’t made it to Ronan yet. She’d keep fighting until he was dead.

Finley froze. As much as I hated to admit it, the years spent fighting at her side made me … familiar with her style. She never froze, never hesitated. Finley Thomas was all impulse.

I pulled my pistol, dropping the two soldiers closest to us. In the brief pause of the fight, I caught it—that flicker in her eyes. Fear. Something I’d long thought she was incapable of.

“Oh,shit,” she whispered, grabbing onto my wrist.

I snatched myself away and turned to follow her line of sight. It was hard to see through the swirling fog—but there was a rhythm underfoot … one that didn’t belong in battle. The ground shifted.

“What the fuck?”

She dragged me back by the arm, fingers digging into my skin. “Someone should really talk to her about tightening her leash. Did you get hit in the head? Stop standing out in the open.”

“The ground?—”

“Yeah, I have all five senses too,” she snapped, interrupting me, her pupils dilated even in the late night. “Geokinetic trackers.”

As if answering the call of their name, the ground where I’d been standing fractured. A narrow fissure opened, and gradually, it gave way to a pit. Soldiers fell, screaming—from both sides.

The healers’ tent erupted in flames. I could see the faint outlines of figures trapped inside, shadows scrambling against the firelight. There was nothing to put it out.

Fuck that. I backed away, Finley having the same idea. We moved fast, cutting through the mayhem as the fog thickened. We fell into a routine—old habits took over. Duck. Jump. Left. Right. It was muscle memory, a rhythm beaten into us by too many battles fought side by side. I hated it. But I wasn’t stupid enough to fight it. Not if it doubled my chances of making it to Amaia.

“You’re going the wrong way,” I snapped, shoving a Covert soldier aside with brutal force.

The ground opened with fascinating speed where he dropped. Fissures were sprouting everywhere, jagged wounds tearing through the battlefield. Step wrong, and it was game over.

“I know where I’m going,” Finley shot back, her voice sharp. “And if you don’t want to end up in a fucking pit of Pansies, you’ll follow me.”

“Amaia—”

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