Page 17 of Fated in A Time of War
I haul her toward the center and stop. My boots scrape against grit. “We’re gonna take five,” I tell her, not because I need the break, but because I want another read on her.
She stands there, wrists bound, breathing steady. Her eyes follow me without flicking away. No flinch when I close the distance.
“What’s your game, necklace?” My voice comes out lower than I mean it to. “You gonna keep pretending you’re just some lost girl?”
Nothing. Just that calm look.
“You’re Ataxian clergy, aren’t you?” I spit the word like it tastes bad. “Out here blessing the troops, whispering about divine victory while your soldiers gut mine.”
Her answer is a single, measured nod. No shame. No apology. Just yes.
I hate that it lands harder than if she’d denied it.
“Figures,” I mutter, stepping back, scanning the rafters as if the acknowledgment might have summoned a kill team. “I knew it the second I saw that trinket.”
The silence stretches between us, heavy and strange. I think about the old stories, the ones the elders used to tell in the academy dorms. About the jalshagar—soul-bound mates, destined across lifetimes. It’s the kind of thing you laugh off when you’re sober, joke about when you’re drunk. I’ve never believed it.
I’m not starting now.
She’s the enemy. That’s all that matters.
I tell myself that again, slow and steady, until it sounds true.
The stairs into the subway groan under my weight, the rust and dust crumbling away with every step. The air down here’s cooler, damp with the stink of mold and old water. My boots scuff against loose debris—old commuter trash, cracked tiles, a bent data kiosk that looks like it’s been used for target practice.
I keep her ahead of me, muzzle low but ready. The darkness swallows the light fast, the hole above shrinking into nothing but a jagged eye staring down at us.
We reach the platform. My steps echo too loud in the stillness, and my gut’s telling me every shadow could be hiding something with a trigger. I scan the rails, the benches, the dead vending machine toppled in the corner.
Then my boot hits a loose panel.
It skids out from under me, and my shoulder slams into her back. She twists with the impact, and before I know it, I’ve caught her against my chest.
We’re face to face.
Inches apart.
And the whole world tilts.
It’s not the way I look at an enemy, not the way I look at prey. My pulse spikes for no damned reason, and it’s not from the stumble. The space between us feels charged, like the hum before a plasma discharge. My chest feels tight, my head too light.
Her eyes lock on mine—bright, defiant blue—and something yanks at me from the inside.
I see… things.
Not like a dream, not like a memory of mine. These are hers. Flickers, disjointed but sharp enough to cut. The cracked ceiling of an orphanage dorm. The scent of incense in a dark prayer hall.Small hands holding another’s, the tiny body shuddering with fever.
And then it’s gone.
I wrench back with a growl that rips out of me before I can choke it down. My claws flex, itching for something solid to dig into. I shove her forward hard enough that she stumbles.
“Move,” I snap, the word scraping my throat raw.
I don’t want to think about what I just saw. Don’t want to admit I saw anything at all. The jalshagar bond’s a campfire story, a fairy tale for romantics and fools. And it damn sure doesn’t happen with an Ataxian.
But my hands aren’t steady when I pull the tape from my kit. I yank her wrists tighter, feel the edges bite into her skin.
If the universe thinks it’s gonna play games with me, I’ll make sure it regrets it.
