The world outside the Shrine wasn't the same one they'd left.
Mortano's skyline bled at the edges, buildings bending in ways that hurt to look at. The air was thick, metallic. Every breath carried the taste of storms and something older—like seawater trapped under stone for centuries.
Kael pressed a hand to the nearest wall. It pulsed beneath his palm, faintly warm. Not brick anymore. Flesh.
Dario's voice came low and sharp beside him. "We're not out."
Kael's gaze flicked to him. His hair was damp with sweat, collar torn, blade still in hand. "Feels like we are."
"Look again."
Kael did—and realized the streetlamps were swaying without wind. Their shadows didn't match their shapes.
The passenger's whisper threaded through his skull: The Shrine doesn't let you go. It follows.
He forced it out. "We need to move."
Dario fell into step with him, their shoulders brushing. The contact wasn't comfort—it was a warning. Stay close or die.
They'd made it three blocks when the smell hit—salt and smoke, braided together.
Kael stopped dead. "She's here."
Dario's jaw tightened. "Aria?"
Kael shook his head. "Salvara."
It wasn't guesswork. It was knowing. The same way he could feel the sigil on his skin burn whenever she whispered his name across the dark.
A shape shifted above them. On the rooftop, a figure in a long black coat watched. Hair tangled by the wind. Eyes catching the light like molten silver.
"Run," the voice called.
Dario's gun was up before Kael could react. "Not this time."
But Kael's chest tightened. That wasn't Salvara's voice. It wasn't even her.
It was Aria.
She dropped from the roof, landing in the street with the kind of grace that came from both training and something unnatural moving in her bones.
Her eyes still bled—but the expression in them wasn't fury. Not this time.
Urgency.
"You think she's still in the Shrine," Aria said. "She's not. She's here."
Kael's voice was sharp. "And you're warning us because…?"
Aria's lip curled. "Because if she gets you, I lose too."
Dario didn't lower the gun, but Kael caught the subtle change in his stance—the half-second hesitation that said this isn't how she usually plays it.
The ground shuddered beneath their feet.
Aria's gaze flicked past them. "Too late."
The street behind them split, black water forcing its way up through the cracks. The air chilled. The walls bent inward, swallowing the road in shadow.
Something climbed out.
Not Salvara. Not the witch's shadow.
Older.
Scaled and skeletal, its body stitched together with strands of shadow. Its head was wrong—like a skull carved from coral, Kael's name etched along the jaw in blood.
The sigil on Kael's skin flared hot enough to stagger him. The thing's head turned, locking onto him instantly.
"Mine," it rasped.
It lunged.
Dario shoved Kael sideways into the wall, the impact rattling his bones. Dario stayed there, a shield between him and the thing, gun up and firing.
The shots cracked like bone breaking. The thing staggered but didn't fall.
Then Aria moved.
Her hands flared with black fire, curse sigils on her skin glowing like open wounds. She struck the thing across the skull. It screamed—an inhuman sound that scraped the inside of Kael's teeth.
The thing reeled back into the water. The cracks in the street sealed like they had never been.
Steam hissed in the sudden quiet.
Kael's chest heaved. "Why?"
Aria's gaze lingered on him for a beat too long. "Don't make me regret it."
Then she stepped into the shadows and was gone.
They didn't speak until they reached the safehouse.
Kael dropped his coat on the table, pacing, still too wired to sit. Something about the room felt wrong—the air just a shade too still, the shadows clinging to corners longer than they should. But after what they'd just faced, the familiarity of four walls was enough to make him want to believe it was real.
Dario leaned against the wall, watching him the way a wolf watches a wounded animal—not sure if he wants to protect it or put it down.
"You're shaking," Dario said finally.
Kael shot him a look. "I'm fine."
"That thing had your name carved into its bones."
Kael froze. He hadn't thought about it like that—not until Dario put it into words.
Dario stepped forward, slow, deliberate, until the space between them was gone. His hand came up, cupping the back of Kael's neck.
"I'm not letting her take you," he said, voice low, almost dangerous.
It wasn't a vow. It was a threat to the whole city.
Kael almost kissed him. Almost.
Instead, he said, "We'll see."
Kael moved past Dario toward the table, pretending to busy himself with the map they'd left there before going into the Shrine. His hands weren't steady. He hoped Dario wouldn't notice.
Of course, Dario noticed everything.
"You're bleeding," Dario said.
"It's nothing."
Dario crossed the space between them in three steps. His fingers brushed Kael's wrist, turning it so the cut along his knuckles caught the lamplight. "Doesn't look like nothing."
Kael pulled back. "Don't start."
"I'm not starting." Dario's voice softened—barely. "I'm just not letting you pretend you're fine when you're not."
Kael hated that tone. Hated how it slipped under his armor and made him feel seen. "You think you know me?"
Dario didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached for the rag on the table, dipped it into the basin of water, and took Kael's hand again—gentler this time. He cleaned the blood from Kael's skin in slow, deliberate strokes, as if each one might be the last.
Kael's heartbeat thudded in his ears. Somewhere in the corner of the room, a shadow twitched like it was breathing—but he didn't look at it. Didn't want to.
"You're shaking," Dario murmured again, more quietly now.
Kael laughed once—short, sharp. "Maybe I'm cold."
"You're not cold."
The words hung between them, heavier than either of them wanted to admit.
Dario didn't let go. His thumb brushed over the inside of Kael's wrist, over the faint pulse there. "You always do this," he said.
"Do what?"
"Bleed for everyone but yourself. You don't even notice when you're the one drowning."
Kael wanted to pull away. Wanted to break the spell. But Dario's eyes held him there, the heat in them pinning him in place more effectively than any blade.
The space between them narrowed, a slow inevitability. Kael could feel the warmth of Dario's breath against his cheek, the rough edge of his voice when he said, "Tell me you don't want this and I'll stop."
Kael's throat tightened. He didn't answer.
Dario's hand slid up, cupping his jaw, tilting his face up until their eyes locked. "You can lie to me, Kael. But not to yourself."
Kael didn't move when Dario closed the last inch between them. The kiss wasn't careful—it was the kind you give when you're not sure you'll live to regret it.
Kael's hands came up, gripping Dario's shirt, pulling him closer. The table edge dug into his hip, but he didn't care. Every nerve felt wired to the moment.
When they finally broke apart, Kael's chest was heaving.
Dario rested his forehead against Kael's. "You keep running," he said. "One day, I'm going to let you."
The words landed like a promise Kael didn't know if he wanted kept.
He stepped back, breaking the contact. "We should get some rest."
Dario didn't stop him. But Kael felt the weight of his gaze long after he'd turned away.
Night settled like a bruise over Mortano.
Kael lay awake on the couch, staring at the ceiling. The safehouse was quiet. Too quiet.
He didn't hear the door open.
Didn't hear the footsteps.
But he felt it—the weight at the edge of the couch, the shift of air, the smell of salt.
A voice leaned into his ear. Not Aria's. Not Salvara's.
You can't keep me out forever.
Kael jerked upright, but the room was empty.
On his collarbone, where the sigil lay, a single drop of seawater slid down his skin.