Page 58 of Orc's Redemption

A beat of silence. Then Z’leni turns away, retreating to the far end of the small chamber. He lowers himself to one knee, checking the gear strapped to his belt. Ryatuv leans against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze simmering. The space is tight. Stifling. We’ll need to stay here until we figure out a path forward. Hours, maybe. Longer, if we’re unlucky.

And the Forgotten… they’re not likely to be far. Time passes. I don’t know how long, but the air is growing colder. Z’leni hasn’t spoken since the fight. Ryatuv hasn’t looked at him once. I sit between them, the torch flickering low at my side.

My wrist throbs in sharp contrast to the dull ache in my ribs. I glance at it and see a bruise has spread and the veins have darkened beneath the skin.

“Let me see,” Ryatuv says quietly.

I hesitate. Then hold it out.

Ryatuv cradles my wrist like it’s something fragile, precious. His thumb grazes the bruised skin, feather-light.

“You should’ve told me,” he murmurs. “I would have been more careful with you.”

“You were busy,” I say. “Posturing.”

That gets the smallest huff of amusement from him.

“I wasn’t posturing,” he says. “I was… protecting.”

Z’leni snorts from across the room. “You keep calling it that.”

“He saved my life,” I say, glaring at him.

“So did I,” Z’leni shrugs.

Gods, they’re both impossible. But it’s strange…

I feel both of them, their presence like heat in my skin. This room is small. The shadows press close. My body trembles from the fight, but my mind is sharper. I don’t miss the way Z’leni watches me when he thinks I’m not looking. How his gaze lingers. Calculating. Interested. And Ryatuv…

He hasn’t let go of my arm. His thumb strokes once over my skin. Then again.

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “That you got hurt.”

Something twists inside me.

“I’m not made of glass,” I whisper.

“No. You’re not,” Ryatuv says, looking up, our eyes locking.

There’s something in his gaze that makes my breath catch. Something intense. Unyielding. And then Z’leni shifts closer. He kneels across from us, watching me.

“You don’t belong here,” Z’leni says softly. “You should hate both of us. You should fear us.”

I don’t answer. Because he’s not wrong. But I’m not afraid. Not of them. What scares me is how little I want to leave this moment. What terrifies me isn’t them.

It’s how much I want to fall into their arms.

How much a part of me already has.

23

RANI

At the outer guard checkpoint near the tunnel mouth, the Zmaj accompanying me stand in rigid silence. Three will join Khiara and me on this journey. They aren’t the fiercest among the Zmaj, nor the strongest. Scouts by trade, they’ve been sent as observers, not protectors.

If my own people attack, they will not fight, they will watch. They will see what I do. Their report to the Al’fa will determine the fate of my people. Za’tan lingers apart from them, arms crossed over his chest, his expression a wall I cannot scale.

“Here to wish me luck?” I ask dryly.

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