Page 115 of The Girl Who Should Be Dead

“No…” the man trails off, but Gurlien tugs Ambra forward, into the next main space.

It’s a long, low hall, a stage crammed far on one end, and the thrum of bodies dance as one mass, and Ambra has to swallow down her fear at it.

And Nalissa chooses to do this. Chooses to spend her time setting these up, listening to the noise, letting it invade her space.

And she’s down here somewhere.

Ambra pushes past the sweaty malaise of humanity, Gurlien right behind her, skirting along the edge of the bone encrusted wall. “I didn’t think you’d be the one people would recognize,” she calls to him, and his mouth is in a grim line. “Should have done more eyeliner.”

“Should’ve gone full face paint,” he gripes, and the band hits a high note, a long wail through the dusty speakers, and Ambra flinches.

Before her feet cross an invisible line, and all the noise falls away, all her attention on the single narrowing focus of magic.

If she goes any further, she can’t teleport out to run away,not without breaking the runes down and sending all the alarms ricocheting through the tunnels.

Which they knew would happen. They knew they would reach a point where they would have to unravel everything to get out.

She just didn’t think it was this close.

She twists to look at Gurlien, and his face is lit by the neon lights strung by wire across the ceiling.

“Is this the teleport line?” he asks, because of course he memorized that.

She nods, mute, and he stares down at her, face serious.

If she crosses this line and things go south, she can’t get them out easily.

Or, rather, if she crosses this line, getting out will be noisy, disruptive, and everyone will know she’s here.

Gurlien shifts closer to her, shielding her from someone streaking by, so most of the light that hits her is shadowed by the bones.

She wants to warn him. Tell him to stay here. Tell him to get out, go save himself, in case this doesn’t work. In case she can’t pull this off. In case Nalissa is prepared for her, in case they’re walking into a trap.

But the leash is still around his wrist, and the chance of her success without him is next to nothing.

“You ready?” he asks, barely audible over the thumping bass, the yells of people, the scream of the singers.

She’s not, but she grabs him by the collar, pulling him down to her and pressing her lips against his.

And with the pound of the music, he cradles her chin, like this kiss is the most precious thing in the world, like he’s holding onto the most delicate of treasure that will shatter if he makes one wrong move. Like in the proximity of her, all he can do is protect.

Which is manifestly hilarious, she’s the overpowered one in this scenario.

She breaks the kiss, staring at him, then steps backwards over the teleportation line.

Immediately, the magic washes over her, sending goosebumps up her arms, and she shivers.

“You should do that if we’re concerned someone spots us,” Gurlien says, low, crossing to be side by side with her. “I think you distracted the guards with that, so I don’t have to punch them.”

“Why would you…” she shakes her head, clearing her thoughts.

He gives her a half sidelong smile and her heart jumps a bit. “It’ll be more effective than punching them.”

“Why are the two options kissing me or punching them?” Ambra asks, and despite the noise and the din and the strobing lights, there’s a small moment of comfort with him. A small moment of security.

“Well,” he drawls, “I figure if they’re staring at your tits so much, one of those actions are appropriate and I like kissing you more than I like punching anything.”

“It’s because of your wrists,” she says.

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