Page 16 of The Demon and the Broken Girl

Daeva lifts Jenna once more, her head lolling weakly against his chest. Ryn and Cole shuffle beside him, arms braced around each other for support. Silas places a hand on my arm. His grip is steady, if trembling with fatigue.

We set off, deeper into the forest. Rain slides in rivulets over branches, droplets spattering our faces. The ground is a slick carpet of pine needles and hidden roots that threaten to trip us with every step. Now and then, I glance at Daeva. He moves with uncanny grace, even carrying an injured person, as though the storm and darkness are mere inconveniences.

Trees loom overhead, silent witnesses to our desperate flight. I can’t help but feel as though each trunk, each bent branch, is a spectator in a grand, terrible game: the hunted humans and the demon guide, pitted against the merciless forces of House Vaerathis.

The storm intensifies, lightning flashing in distant forks across the sky. I wrap an arm around my torso, suppressing shivers. My thoughts spin with possibilities—perhaps we’ll slip away to safety, or perhaps the elves will descend upon us at dawn. Perhaps we’ll find help in some hidden pocket of Protheka. Perhaps we’ll perish in these woods.

Through it all, one fact burns bright in my mind: we’re out of the fortress. There’s no going back now. Freed or cursed, living or dead, we’ve stepped into a new world, guided by a demon who once was human. And with each thunderclap, I sense we’reedging closer to secrets I’m not ready to face—secrets about Daeva, about the dark elves’ unholy rituals, and about what I might become if I keep clinging to his power for my salvation.

Still, I set my jaw and force one foot in front of the other, letting the rain wash away any lingering hesitation. Tomorrow might bring more terror, but tonight, we survive. We survive, and that has to be enough.

4

DAEVA

Istand beneath the dripping canopy of black pines, Jenna’s weight slumped against my chest, and force one ragged breath after another. The rain has turned the forest floor to a swamp of rotted needles and slick mud, and each of my footfalls sinks deeper than I’d like. But no matter the exhaustion gnawing at me, I don’t relent. This mortal woman clings to life by a tenuous thread, and despite the dull ache that’s started to spread through my limbs, I bear her without complaint.

Calla, Silas, Ryn, and Cole trudge close behind, their hushed voices drowned out by the wind and patter of raindrops. In the shifting shadows, I detect their furtive glances, the way they look at me as if I am both their savior and a threat. Perhaps I am. My powers are not at full strength, yet I’ve displayed enough to unsettle them. I catch the occasional flicker in Calla’s gaze—equal parts dread and wonder. It almost makes me smile.

Almost. These emotions… it reminds me that I was once human, too.

I push aside a curtain of wet branches and step into a small clearing choked with waist-high ferns. The pungent smell of rain-soaked earth hits me. A massive pine trunk lies uprootedon one side, torn from the ground by some past storm. Beyond it, the terrain slopes downward into thicker darkness. We have walked for hours now, and the others are reaching their limits. Even Silas, whose spirit still burns bright, sways on his feet.

“We’ll pause,” I say over my shoulder, my voice low. “Just long enough to see to Jenna’s wound and to make certain no one is following us.”

I set Jenna down gently against the fallen trunk. She groans, forehead clammy, her face ashen. Calla kneels beside her at once, brow creased with worry, while Silas and the others collapse into the wet ferns.

In a single stride, I move a short distance away, scanning the perimeter. The forest drips and creaks, pockets of rain pooling in low places, forming murky puddles. I sense no immediate presence of dark elves, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t out there. My connection to my own powers has been tenuous since I woke in that cursed mirror, and my awareness isn’t as precise as I’d like. The bond I share—shared—with my ancient enemy remains a distant ache, a warning that I haven’t truly severed him from my life. He is out there, waiting.

My lip curls at the thought. For now, I have no intention of letting him recapture me.

Returning to the others, I find them in dismal spirits. Ryn hovers near Jenna, picking fretfully at dead pine needles, while Cole and Silas argue over which direction we should travel once dawn breaks. Rain dribbles down Calla’s temple, but she seems too focused on Jenna’s wound to notice the cold.

I crouch beside Calla, letting the dampness soak through the knees of my trousers. My eyes flick to Jenna’s shoulder. The dark patch of blood stands out against the improvised frost scar I created earlier—a temporary closure that may not hold through infection and fever.

“Her breathing is shallow,” Calla says, voice tight with worry. “She’s burning up.”

“We need real healing,” Cole says through chattering teeth. “Isn’t there some…some herb or something you can do?” He looks at me with a curious mixture of hope and distrust.

I close my eyes, searching my memory for scraps of mortal life. Once, I knew something about healing herbs—feverfew, meadowsweet, blackroot. But those memories are centuries old, from a time when I was still human. Now they’re dim shadows in the recesses of my mind.

“There may be a plant called silverleaf,” I say after a moment, voice low. “If it grows here, its leaves can be brewed to fight infection. I’m…not certain I’d recognize it immediately.”

Calla’s gaze locks on me. Something in her eyes suggests she hears the hesitance in my tone. I look away, uneasy. I hate the weakness that creeps in when I remember the past. But I allow the vulnerability—briefly—because the alternative is letting Jenna die.

Silas, overhearing, breaks in. “I’ve seen silverleaf in the undergroves near Kantor. Maybe it grows this far south, too. Should I go look?”

The hair on my nape prickles. “Not alone,” I warn. “This forest is uncharted territory for you, and the elves may have set trackers on our trail. I’ll go.”

Silas looks torn between caution and the desire to help. He nods reluctantly. “All right. But be careful.”

I rise, ignoring the throbbing heaviness in my own limbs. The cold presses in, and I sense the edges of a deeper fatigue that’s plagued me since the catacombs. I force it aside. There is no alternative. Jenna will die soon if we do nothing.

“I’ll be back quickly,” I say. “Stay quiet. If you sense anyone approaching, leave.”

Calla’s hand reaches out, brushing my forearm. The contact is fleeting but surprising—a gentle anchor in the darkness. I meet her gaze. A silent question swirls in her eyes:Are you all right?She doesn’t voice it. I give her a brief nod, then slip away into the damp gloom.

The forest presses close as I move, each step carefully placed so I don’t slip on slick pine needles. My senses scour the surrounding night for any sign of movement. The wind shifts, carrying a faint hint of something decaying—whether it’s old vegetation or an animal carcass, I can’t tell. Rain continues its relentless assault, blurring the world into shifting silhouettes.

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