The silence between us is suffocating. Killian's gaze remains locked onto mine, searching—demanding an answer I do not have.
I should have killed him. I should have ended this.
But I didn't.
I swallow the words threatening to rise, forcing my breath to steady. My fingers tighten around my blade. If I admit I hesitated, it makes me weak. And weakness is death.
Before I can force out a response, a sudden noise shatters the tense quiet.
Steel against steel.
My head snaps to the alley's entrance just as figures emerge from the darkness. Shadows stretch long under the flickering lanterns, revealing cloaked figures—too many.
They are not Crimson Order. They are not his kingdom's men either.
Killian shifts beside me, his posture instantly sharp, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword. He sees it too. These men are not here for a simple fight. They are here to kill.
And not just him.
"Bounty hunters," I murmur under my breath. My stomach tightens. "The kingdom sent them to finish what I haven't."
Killian lets out a humorless chuckle, his voice barely above a whisper. "How generous of them."
I barely have time to register his sarcasm before the first man lunges.
My instincts take over. My blade meets his mid-swing, the force jarring through my bones. Another attacker barrels toward me, but I twist, using his momentum against him, sending him crashing into the wall.
Steel flashes. I duck just in time to feel the whisper of a blade slicing the air above my head.
Killian moves like a shadow—swift, ruthless. He steps into the chaos like it was made for him, his blade an extension of his body. Precise. Deadly.
For a brief moment, I catch his gaze. A silent understanding passes between us.
Right now, we are not enemies.
Right now, survival is all that matters.
I drop low, sweeping my leg beneath one of the attackers, knocking him to the ground. He barely has time to gasp before my dagger finds his throat.
The fight is brutal. Messy. The air is thick with the scent of sweat and blood, the clang of metal ringing in my ears. But as the last man falls, I turn to find Killian watching me—not with caution, not with hostility.
With something else entirely.
I wipe the blood from my blade, breathing hard. "I should have been the one to kill you. Not them."
His lips twitch, something between amusement and curiosity. "So you saved my life out of spite?"
"No," I say quietly. "I saved it because my freedom is mine to earn. No one else's."
A beat of silence.
Then, against all logic, Killian smiles.
"We need to move," Killian says after a moment, his voice lower now, more serious. "They won't be the last."
I glance down at the bodies sprawled across the alley, my pulse still thrumming from the fight. He's right. The bounty on his head—and mine, now—will only draw more hunters. Staying here is a death sentence.
He sheathes his sword, but his gaze lingers on me. "Do you have a place? A hideout?"
I hesitate. Trust is not something I give freely. And yet, turning away from him now would mean facing whatever comes next alone.
"There's an old outpost in the mountains," I admit. "It's abandoned, but defensible."
Killian nods, as if he expected nothing less. "Then that's where we go."
I don't argue. Instead, I step over the fallen, my boots pressing into the blood-soaked dirt. Killian falls into stride beside me, his presence a sharp reminder of what this alliance truly is.
Temporary.
Necessary.
And possibly, the most dangerous thing I have ever done.
The journey to the outpost is silent at first. Only the wind howls through the empty streets, carrying the scent of rain. I keep my pace quick, my eyes scanning for movement in the shadows, but Killian walks with a practiced ease, like he has nothing to fear.
"You've been hunted before," I say after a while.
His gaze flickers to me. "Many times."
I wait for him to elaborate. He doesn't.
I grit my teeth. "And yet, you're still alive."
A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "So are you."
Something about the way he says it unsettles me. Like we are the same. Like he sees through me in a way others don't.
The thought is dangerous.
The rain starts as we reach the outskirts of the city, light at first, then heavier, soaking into my clothes, chilling my skin. Killian pulls his hood up, unbothered. I press forward, guiding us toward the narrow mountain path leading to the outpost.
"How far?" he asks.
"A few hours," I reply.
He nods, silent again.
But something lingers in the air between us.
A Shift,
A wariness.
And something far more dangerous than that.