Page 39 of Fated in A Time of War
For a long moment, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just stares at me like he’s deciding whether to deny it or tear me apart for speaking it aloud.
He exhales, a rough sound like stone grinding on stone.
“You’re a liability,” he snarls, but the heat in his voice feels hollow. “Dead weight. That’s all.”
“Then leave me here.” My challenge comes out steady, though my heart hammers so hard I swear he can hear it.
His silence answers before his words can.
He doesn’t leave. He won’t.
I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting the strange, dangerous warmth coiling low in my chest. This isn’t safety. This isn’t comfort. It’s something jagged, raw, forged in fire and blood and the madness of survival.
But it’s real.
I turn back to the terminal, fingers brushing over the controls, committing the Kru sweep path to memory. “If we’re going after them,” I say carefully, “then we do it smart. Quiet. No frontal assaults. You may be built like a tank, but even you’ll break under a full squad’s barrage.”
He huffs, a sound between a laugh and a growl. “So the priestess thinks she can teach me how to fight?”
“I think I can keep you alive,” I snap, sharper than I intend. Then, softer: “And myself, too.”
His eyes narrow, but his mouth twitches—just barely. Not a smile. But not far.
The screen flickers again, red blotches crawling closer. Time’s running out.
I power the system down, plunging us back into half-darkness. The sudden quiet is deafening. My pulse fills the void, a steady reminder that I’ve tethered myself to this beast, this broken soldier who terrifies me and draws me closer all the same.
Krall adjusts his rifle, eyes never leaving me. “Gear up. We hunt.”
I swallow hard, fighting the chill running through me. Because I know what he won’t admit.
He’s not hunting for the Alliance.
He’s hunting for me.
The tenement groans with every shift of the wind, steel and concrete bones settling like some old dying beast. We’ve climbed as high as we dare, weaving through collapsed stairwells and broken floors, until finally we settle in what used to be the top floor. Half of it is gone—sheared off by shelling—but what’s left is enough to hold us. Enough to hide us.
I lie on my back, staring up through a ragged hole in the ceiling. The night sky spills through—torn velvet, stitched with stars. Cold light on a cold night. My breath fogs faint in the dark.
Krall sits nearby, cloak draped heavy over his broad shoulders, rifle resting across his knees. His silhouette looks carved from iron, still and sharp, but I know better. I can feel the restless storm inside him. Even in silence, it bleeds out.
“Do you believe in the Jalshagar?” I ask, voice breaking the hush.
The words feel reckless the moment they’re out. Too direct. Too dangerous. But the question’s been clawing at me since thesubway. Since the look in his eyes when everything tilted. Since the memories that weren’t mine.
His head turns slightly, golden eyes glinting faintly in the starlight. Then he snorts, low and derisive. “Fairy tales,” he mutters. “Stories to keep children from wandering off into the dark. I don’t waste breath on that nonsense.”
I hum softly, noncommittal. Not agreeing. Not disagreeing. Just letting the silence settle again.
The wind moans through the broken concrete, rattling rusted pipes. Somewhere far below, a rat scurries through debris, claws scratching faintly like whispers against stone.
I don’t push him. I don’t have to. Because when I glance over, I catch it—the way his eyes linger on me, longer than before. Not by accident. Not just watchfulness. There’s something raw in that gaze, something he hasn’t named. Maybe won’t ever name.
He realizes I’ve caught him and looks away, too fast. Too sharp. Like a man caught with blood on his hands.
And I smile. Small. Secret.
Not because I’ve won anything. Not because he’s softened or broken or anything foolish like that. But because I know. Iknow.
