The room was awash in the pale light of dawn, casting long shadows across the floor. Taryn lay rigid, her eyes tracing the wooden beams above. Despite the warmth of the blanket tangled around her and the quiet hum of the blood bond pulsing beneath her skin, she couldn't relax. Every second they lingered here felt like a risk—a risk they couldn't afford.

Lucien stirred beside her, his arm draped lazily over her waist. His slow, measured breaths were a rare sign of vulnerability, his usual sharp control softened by sleep. The weight of his presence against her side was grounding yet disconcerting.

The blanket felt heavier than it should, the heat of it suffocating. Every creak of the inn, every distant murmur from the street outside, seemed amplified in the stillness. Her pulse drummed a steady rhythm against her temples, her body betraying her futile attempts to appear composed. She shifted slightly, careful not to wake Lucien, but the movement did nothing to ease the tightness in her chest.

She tried to ignore the thrumming of the bond, low and insistent, tethering them. It wasn't just the warmth of his body that unnerved her—it was the intimacy of their shared energy, seeping into her defenses like water through cracks in stone.

Stupid. Dangerous.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Not like this.

She'd let herself slip, allowed herself to enjoy the warmth of another body beside hers. Now, the weight of it pressed down harder than any blade. Vulnerability had always been a liability—a crack in her armor she couldn't afford. But here she was, her defenses breached.

Lucien's voice broke the quiet, low and teasing. "You're tense already, warrior."

Her eyes flicked down, meeting his half-lidded silver gaze. His lazy grin, softened by sleep, made her chest tighten.

"I'm not tense," she said flatly.

"You always get tense after you let your guard down." he muttered.

It was just one time, she told herself, trying to smother the creeping panic. One time to indulge in something she hadn't allowed herself in years. That didn't mean anything had to change. But her chest felt tight, her heart refusing to settle.

His chuckle rumbled, rough with sleep. "Lying to me this early? The day's off to a great start."

She hated how easily he could read her, hated even more how much he seemed to enjoy it.

Why did I let this happen?

The question pulsed alongside the blood bond, low and insistent. It wasn't regret—not exactly. It was the realization that she'd given him a piece of herself she couldn't take back.

"We've stayed too long," Taryn muttered, brushing his arm off as she sat up.

Lucien sighed dramatically, propping himself up on one elbow. "You've been saying that since we got here."

"And I'm still right." She stood, her movements brisk as she gathered her clothes.

He's still Lucien. The thought should have grounded her, reminded her of who he was: a man she couldn't entirely trust. But it didn't help. If anything, it made her stomach twist tighter. Because Lucien had never pretended to be anything other than dangerous, and she'd let him get close anyway.

Lucien stretched luxuriously, his lean muscles shifting under the soft light. "Right or not, I'm going to miss this bed. Say what you want about small-town inns; they know how to stuff a mattress."

Taryn snorted.

Control.

That was what she needed to focus on now—taking it back, piece by piece. She'd let herself be swept up in the moment last night, but that was over. No more letting her guard down. No more slipping. The blood bond might hum between them, but she wouldn't let it dictate her choices.

She strapped her dagger to her thigh. "I'm sure that's what you'll remember when the militia drags us out of here."

Lucien grinned. "If they can catch us, sure. But in the meantime…" He fell back against the pillows with a contented sigh. "I'll cherish these last few moments of peace."

She shot him a glare. "Cherish them while getting dressed. I'm not dragging your half-naked corpse out of here."

"Now there's a picture," Lucien said, smirking as he finally swung his legs over the side of the bed. He reached for his coat, shrugging it on with deliberate slowness. "You saving my life in a blaze of glory. Poetic, don't you think?"

Taryn didn't dignify that with a response. She focused on buckling her gear, her mind already calculating their next moves.

Focus on finishing the mission.

Focus on survival.

That was all that mattered. The rest—the bond, the heat between them, even last night—was a distraction. She couldn't let herself be distracted. Not now. Not ever again.

Lucien watched her in silence for a moment, then stood, his tone softening. "Relax, Taryn. The world's not ending today."

Her jaw tightened as she yanked on her boots. But she couldn't stop the thought that followed:

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

Not yet.

The hallway outside their room was dim, the wooden floor creaking beneath their boots. The faint scent of old wood and stale ale lingered in the air, a reminder of the countless travelers who had passed through before them.

Lucien's voice broke the quiet. "You know, this place has grown on me."

Taryn shot him a sidelong glance. "You hate small towns."

"I hate boring small towns," Lucien corrected, smirking. "But this one's got charm. An air of… mystery."

"An air of mildew," Taryn muttered.

Lucien chuckled. "Always so grim. You'd be happier if you let yourself enjoy the little things."

"Like what?"

Lucien gestured vaguely. "The peace and quiet. The chance to sleep in an actual bed. The fact that no one's tried to stab us in days."

Taryn raised an eyebrow. "The last one's debatable."

"See? Optimism suits you."

Taryn shook her head, though a faint smirk tugged at her lips. Lucien had a way of deflecting tension, turning even the grimmest situations into something bearable. It was infuriating, but she couldn't deny its effectiveness.

They reached the bottom of the stairs, their conversation trailing off as the common room came into view. The innkeeper stood behind the bar, polishing a glass with slow, deliberate strokes. He glanced up briefly, then quickly averted his gaze. His hand slipped, and the glass nearly tumbled from his grasp.

Taryn raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Someone didn't sleep well," Lucien murmured, his tone light.

The innkeeper straightened, his hands trembling slightly as he set the glass down. He muttered something under his breath and shuffled toward the back room.

Taryn's hand hovered near her dagger, her instincts prickling. Her eyes drifted across the common room, noting the two workers clearing tables. Their movements were stiff, their gazes darting nervously toward her and Lucien. One of them stole a glance at Taryn, then quickly looked away, his face pale.

Lucien's sharp gaze followed hers. "Friendly bunch this morning," he said quietly.

"Too friendly," Taryn replied, her voice low.

Lucien tilted his head, considering. "Maybe they're shy."

Taryn didn't respond. Her gaze swept the room, instincts sharpening as the innkeeper vanished into the shadows. Something wasn't right.

Her eyes had locked onto two pieces of paper tacked near the inn's entrance. She crossed the room in quick, purposeful strides with Lucien following lazily behind, ignoring the way the workers stiffened as they passed.

Her hand closed around the poster, tearing it from the wall. The weight of the accusations sank into her chest. She stared at the words, her mind racing.

Wanted for the Assassination of Councilor Joran.

Enemies of the Human Accord.

Lucien pulled down the second poster. His expression darkened as he read.

By Order of the Midnight Coven.

Wanted for the Murder of Elder Varnis.

They weren't just recognizable; they were twisted into caricatures of cruelty. The kind of faces designed to stir fear and loathing.

Lucien frowned, his voice grim. "They're blaming us for both assassinations?"

Taryn's brow furrowed, her voice tight. "The Council and the Coven. Two different leaders, two different accusations."

Lucien exhaled sharply. "A ceasefire. Fragile as hell, but this? This could shatter it." He shook his head. "Why would both factions think we're behind it?"

"They don't," Taryn said bitterly. "They're using us to start something bigger." Taryn stared at the crumpled posters in her hand, her jaw tight. "They're willing to burn everything down just to keep their grip on power."

Lucien's voice was low, almost bitter. "We knew they'd use us, but this? They've made us the face of their war." He shook his head, his usual smirk nowhere to be seen. "They didn't just push us to the edge; they threw us off the cliff."

Before Taryn could respond, a familiar voice cut through the quiet. "You two have a real talent for attracting trouble."

Taryn's hand flew to her dagger, but she stopped short when Bren stepped out of the shadows near the bar, his hands raised in a gesture of peace.

Bren looked different from the last time she'd seen him. His once-pristine armor was scuffed, and dark circles shadowed his eyes. But his cocky grin hadn't changed. "Long time, Taryn."

Her grip on the dagger tightened. "Not long enough."

Bren chuckled, but it lacked humor. "Look, I'm not here to fight." His gaze shifted briefly to Lucien before returning to her. "There's a price on your heads. Big enough to turn even your friends against you."

Taryn's eyes narrowed. "Friends?"

The word tasted bitter on her tongue, dredging up memories she'd rather forget. Bren had been more than an ally once. They'd fought side by side, shared victories and near-deaths. But trust had its limits, and Bren had shattered theirs long ago.

"Did you sell us out?" Taryn's voice was cold, sharp.

Bren flinched, just slightly. "No. But the town knows. The militia's coming. You need to leave."

Lucien crossed his arms, his silver eyes unreadable. "And you're just here to help out of the kindness of your heart?"

Bren hesitated, his gaze dropping. "To warn you. That's all I can do." His voice lowered, almost pleading. "I don't agree with this, but the bounty's too high. I can't stop them, but…" He reached into his coat and tossed a small leather bag toward Lucien, who caught it easily.

"Coin," Bren said quickly. "And papers. Use them to get out of here."

Taryn's eyes narrowed further, suspicion flaring. "Why?"

Bren's jaw tightened, and for a moment, his gaze softened. "Because I owe you," he said quietly, as if convincing himself. "I owed you more than this."

Before Taryn could respond, a distant shout broke the tense silence. "There they are!"

The tension snapped like a bowstring. Taryn didn't wait—she shoved the bag into Lucien's hands and grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the nearest alley.

"Go!" she hissed.

The brisk morning air hit them like a slap as they burst out the back door. The streets were already stirring, but the shouts of the militia rose above the everyday clatter, spreading panic among the townsfolk. Taryn led the way through the narrow alleyways, her steps quick and deliberate. Lucien followed closely, the weight of the bag Bren had given them bouncing against his chest.

"What do you think is really in that bag?" Taryn's voice was sharp, cutting through the sound of their pounding footsteps.

Lucien glanced down at it briefly. "We'll find out when we're not being hunted."

They rounded a corner, only to find a cart overturned in their path, its load of vegetables scattered across the cobblestones. Without missing a beat, Lucien leapt over it, his hand shooting out to help Taryn over as well.

Behind them, the clamor of pursuit grew louder. The militia wasn't far.

"This way," Lucien said, nodding toward a narrow gap between two buildings. They squeezed through, emerging into a quieter street lined with shuttered shops. The forest loomed at the edge of town, a dark sanctuary waiting to swallow them whole.

Taryn didn't slow down, her focus laser-sharp. The adrenaline coursing through her veins drowned out the pain of old wounds and the weight of new betrayals. She had one goal: survival.

They reached the edge of the forest, the dense underbrush swallowing the sound of their ragged breathing. The shouts of the militia grew fainter as the thick canopy overhead cast them into shadow.

Taryn leaned against a tree, her chest heaving. Lucien scanned the forest behind them, his silver eyes alert.

"We can't stay here," Taryn said, her voice low but steady. "They'll search the forest."

Lucien nodded. "Agreed. But we've bought ourselves a little time."

He opened the bag Bren had given them, pulling out a small bundle of documents and a few gold coins. His brows furrowed as he unfolded the papers.

"Travel papers," he muttered. "Forged, but good enough to get us through most checkpoints."

Taryn frowned, stepping closer to peer over his shoulder. "Why would Bren give us this? He could've sold us out and taken the bounty."

Lucien shrugged, his expression grim. "Guilt, maybe. Or he's setting us up for something worse."

Taryn's jaw tightened. "I don't trust him."

"Neither do I," Lucien said, folding the papers and tucking them back into the bag. "But we'll use what we can."

They shared a brief, tense silence, the weight of their situation pressing down on them. Then Taryn pushed off the tree, her resolve hardening.

"We keep moving," she said. "Find a safe place to regroup and figure out our next move."

Lucien smirked faintly, though his eyes remained serious. "Lead the way, warrior."

They set off deeper into the forest, their footsteps muffled by the soft earth. The bond between them thrummed quietly, a steady reminder that, for better or worse, they were in this together.

The chase wasn't over. It had only just begun.

They shared a brief glance, the weight of their unspoken pact settling between them. For now, there was no room for anything else. No time for anger, for fear, or for doubt.

Only survival.