Elara's POV
They ran until Elara's chest felt like it was on fire.
Dorian pulled her through twisting alleys she'd never seen before, his hand tight around her wrist. Behind them, she could hear boots pounding, whistles shrieking, people screaming as the Guild enforcers tore through the underground market.
"This way!" Lyra gasped, pointing to a narrow gap between two buildings.
They squeezed through just as an enforcer rounded the corner. Elara held her breath, pressing herself against the cold stone wall. Her heart hammered so loud she was sure they'd hear it.
The enforcer's footsteps stopped. Listened. Then moved on.
Elara let out a shaky breath. "That was too close."
"You think?" Dorian still hadn't let go of her wrist. "Your ex-fiancé just called the guards on his own illegal deal to frame you. That's a special kind of evil."
"Marcus is good at evil," Elara said bitterly. She pulled her hand free from Dorian's grip. "Why did you help me anyway? We hate each other, remember?"
"I don't hate you." Dorian's gray eyes were serious in the dim light. "I never did."
That made Elara angry for some reason. "Well, I hate you. You and your stupid gears and your—"
"My soulless mechanical magic?" Dorian's mouth twisted in a smile that wasn't happy. "You've said that before. Many times."
"Because it's true!"
"And your alchemy is outdated and stuck in the past."
Elara's hands clenched into fists. Even now, running for her life, he could make her so mad she wanted to scream. "My father's alchemy saved lives!"
"My mother died because alchemy couldn't save her!" Dorian shot back.
The words hung in the air between them like smoke.
Lyra looked between them, eyes wide. "Um, guys? Maybe fight later? When we're not being hunted?"
Dorian ran a hand through his dark hair. "Right. Sorry." He took a breath. "We need to talk. Somewhere safe. I have information you need to hear."
"I don't need anything from you," Elara said.
"Yes, you do." Dorian's voice went soft and serious. "Because someone's trying to kill you, and it's not just Marcus."
Cold fear washed over Elara. "What are you talking about?"
"Not here." Dorian glanced around the alley. "I know a place. Will you trust me? Just for one hour?"
Elara wanted to say no. She wanted to walk away from Dorian Ashcroft and his fancy coat and his irritating face. But she remembered the fire eating her workshop. She remembered Marcus's cruel smile. She remembered that someone had tried to burn her alive.
"One hour," she agreed. "Then I never want to see you again."
Something flickered in Dorian's eyes—hurt, maybe?—but he just nodded.
They walked through the dark streets, Lyra staying close to Elara's side. Finally, Dorian stopped at an expensive-looking building near the nice part of town. He led them up marble stairs to a fancy apartment with actual glass windows.
"Welcome to my place," he said, lighting lamps with a snap of his fingers. Mechanical magic.
The apartment was full of gears and inventions and beautiful furniture. It made Elara's burned workshop seem even more pathetic.
"Talk," she demanded. "Tell me what you know."
Dorian poured three glasses of water and handed them out. "Six months ago, I started noticing a pattern. Alchemists were having accidents. Lab fires. Robberies. One even fell off a bridge. At first, it seemed random. But then I found the connection."
"What connection?" Lyra asked.
"They were all brilliant. All working on new research that might change alchemy forever." Dorian looked at Elara. "Like you were."
Elara's throat went dry. "You think someone's killing talented alchemists?"
"Not just alchemists. Mechanical mages too. Anyone who might bring the two disciplines together. Anyone who threatens the status quo." Dorian pulled out a folder full of papers. "I've been investigating for months. Tonight, when I heard about a fire in the slums at your address, I came looking for you."
"Why?" Elara's voice came out as a whisper. "Why would you care?"
Dorian met her eyes. "Because I've read your father's work. I've seen what you did at university. You're the most brilliant alchemist I've ever known, Elara. And I think you're the key to stopping whoever's behind this."
Her heart did a strange flip in her chest. "I'm nobody now. Marcus made sure of that."
"Marcus is an idiot who wouldn't know real genius if it exploded in his face." Dorian's voice was fierce. "Which, frankly, I hope it does someday."
Despite everything, Elara almost smiled.
"So what do you want from me?" she asked.
Dorian took a breath like he was preparing for something big. "I want to make you a deal. My father died and left me his entire fortune—but only if I'm engaged before my thirtieth birthday. That's in six weeks."
"So get engaged," Elara said. "I'm sure hundreds of girls would say yes."
"I don't want hundreds of girls. I want someone who won't actually fall in love with me and make things complicated." Dorian's eyes locked on hers. "I want you."
Elara's brain stopped working. "What?"
"Pretend to be my fiancée. Come live at my estate. I'll give you a laboratory, materials, everything you need to continue your research. After I secure my inheritance, I'll use my money and influence to clear your name. Six months, then we both get what we want and walk away."
"You're insane," Elara breathed.
"Probably," Dorian agreed. "But you're desperate, and I'm your best option. Maybe your only option."
He was right, and Elara hated that he was right.
"Why should I trust you?" she asked. "You're just another rich boy who—"
A crash from downstairs cut her off.
They all froze.
Heavy footsteps echoed up the stairs. Lots of them.
"They found us," Lyra whispered.
Dorian moved to the window and looked down. His face went pale. "That's not enforcers. Those are Vincent's men. My brother's private guards."
"Your brother wants you dead too?" Elara couldn't believe this night.
"Apparently." Dorian grabbed her hand. "So what's it going to be, Elara? Take my deal and let me help you escape? Or try to survive on your own?"
The footsteps were getting closer.
Someone started pounding on the door.
Elara looked at Dorian's outstretched hand—the hand of her old rival, the person she'd spent years hating.
She looked at the door that was about to break down.
She thought about her burned workshop, her stolen research, Marcus's smile, and the fact that someone wanted her dead.
The door splintered.
Elara grabbed Dorian's hand.
"Deal," she said.
Dorian pulled her toward the window just as armed men burst through the door. "Hold on tight!"
"Wait, what are you—"
But Dorian was already climbing onto the windowsill, pulling Elara with him. Three stories up. No rope. No safety net.
Just open air and the dark street below.
"Trust me," Dorian said.
And jumped.