The march through the ruins was endless. Each step echoed against fractured stone, and the smoke clung to them like ash-colored chains. Evelyn's arms ached from carrying Clara, but she refused to loosen her grip. She would not let Zeke—or anyone—see her falter.
At last, Damien spotted it: the skeletal remains of a watchtower leaning against a half-collapsed ridge. Its upper half was shattered, but the base was still intact, sheltered by slabs of fallen rock. It wasn't much, but it was enough.
"There," Damien rasped, pointing with his good hand. "Not exactly the Ritz, but at least it's got walls. Mostly."
Evelyn shot him a weary glance. "You've never even been to the Ritz."
"Details," Damien muttered, though the edge of a grin tugged at his lips. Even half-dead, he couldn't resist.
They slipped inside the structure, lowering Clara onto the cold stone floor. Evelyn knelt beside her immediately, brushing her hair back, whispering reassurances the unconscious girl couldn't hear. Clara's breathing was shallow, but steady.
Zeke inspected the space, his eyes scanning corners, counting exits, cataloging weaknesses. Always calculating. Always ready to cut and measure survival. Evelyn could feel the tension bleeding off him like static.
"You don't have to hover like a vulture," she snapped.
Zeke didn't even look at her. "I'm ensuring we're not trapped in a kill box. Forgive me for trying to keep you alive."
"You mean you're looking for the fastest way to abandon Clara if things turn bad."
His gaze slid to her, calm, unblinking. "If things turn bad, it's not abandonment. It's containment. You're confusing sentiment with strategy."
Evelyn surged to her feet, anger flaring. "She's a person, Zeke. Not a variable in your equation."
"And what has that sentiment bought you so far?" Zeke's tone remained maddeningly steady. "You've nearly died three times protecting her. Damien nearly lost his arm today. How many more sacrifices until you admit she's the crack in our armor?"
Damien, still slumped against a broken pillar, groaned. "Do we have to do this now? Can we maybe argue about Clara's life expectancy after I've had some water and, I don't know, two hours of consciousness?"
But Evelyn ignored him, stepping closer to Zeke, her voice trembling with fury. "If you lay a hand on her, I swear—"
"You'll do what?" Zeke interrupted softly. "Kill me? And then what? March into Yurin's teeth with a half-conscious girl and a half-dead swordsman?"
The silence that followed was heavier than the ruins above them. Evelyn's hands shook at her sides. She wanted to hit him, scream at him, anything—but Zeke's calm, ruthless logic froze her in place.
Damien finally pushed himself upright, wincing as his shoulder protested. "Enough. Both of you. Zeke's not wrong that Clara's a risk. Evelyn's not wrong that she's worth protecting. So here's my brilliant compromise: nobody kills anyone tonight. We all catch our breath, and if Yurin shows up, we punch him in the face before stabbing each other in the back. Deal?"
Evelyn shot Damien a glare, but the exhaustion weighing down her bones robbed her of the energy to fight further. She sank back down beside Clara, wrapping her arms around her protectively.
Zeke said nothing more, but his silence was louder than words. He took a seat across from them, leaning back against the wall, eyes half-closed but still sharp. Evelyn knew he wasn't sleeping. He never slept when Clara was near.
For a while, the only sound was the wind whistling through broken stone.
Evelyn stroked Clara's hair, whispering quietly, almost to herself. "She's not just some vessel. She's Clara. She's our Clara. She's worth more than your damn ledger."
Zeke didn't respond. He simply opened his eyes and looked at her. For the first time, Evelyn thought she saw a crack in the armor—a flicker of something softer, older, almost regretful. But it was gone in an instant.
Damien chuckled weakly, breaking the suffocating tension. "You know, if anyone found us right now, we'd look less like heroes and more like three idiots squatting in a burnt-out Airbnb with terrible Yelp reviews."
Evelyn huffed out a breath that was half laugh, half sob. "You're impossible."
"Yeah," Damien said, settling against the pillar again. "But admit it—you'd miss me if I died."
Evelyn didn't answer, though a small, tired smile tugged at her lips.
Zeke leaned his head back against the wall, his voice barely audible. "We're not out of this. Not even close. Yurin will come again. Stronger. And when he does, sentiment won't save you."
Evelyn met his gaze, her hand still clutching Clara's. "Then we'll find something else. Because I won't let her go."
The silence stretched again, but this time it was different—charged, uneasy, but no longer threatening to snap.
Outside, the crimson wound in the sky pulsed faintly, like an eye opening wider.