Page 59 of Between Smoke and Shadow

“Okay,” I say. I try to sound brave, determined, but my voice squeaks. “Will you be here when I’m done? I won’t—I won’t be able to find my way back.”

“Be quick,” he says. “I’ll wait as long as it’s safe. Not a second more.”

“Understood.”

He nods sharply, then gestures again toward the building. I don’t let myself dwell on what I’ll do if he leaves me here. Instead, I move for the slanted warehouse, not looking back until I’ve reached the entrance. Alven has already disappeared.

I’m barely through the door before a knife is at my throat. I gasp, stumbling backward until my shoulders hit cold metal.

“Name?” the man demands. He’s wearing a strange concoction of white, threadbare clothing. His pale hair is greasy, beard tangled and overgrown. There’s a wildness in his eyes, which are shockingly exposed. It doesn’t look like he’s even carrying a mask, as if he’s hoping someone will end his life.

That being said, he clearly wouldn’t go without a fight.

“R-Rune,” I finally manage. The tip of his blade rests at the base of my neck, and he’s applying enough pressure for me to know he won’t hesitate.

The man looks up and down my body. We’re close to the same height, but he’s clearly stronger, faster, more experienced.

I writhe slightly, as if attempting to shake him off. It does nothing, and the man only continues to stare.

“Are you Berg?” I finally manage. My voice is hoarse, small. “I was…I’m here to meet you.”

“Who sent you.” It’s somehow a statement, not a question. He applies more pressure to his blade, and I swear, he’s drawn blood. His opposite hand settles into the spot beside my head, and he leans closer, eyes narrowed, unimpressed.

“Vale,” I say. My voice shakes, but at least I’ve managed to answer him. I consider mentioning Alven, then decide against it.

The man continues staring. His mouth is downturned, but his face is otherwise unreadable. He lowers the knife until it’s no longer on my skin but still high enough if he needs to attack.

“I was told you have information for me,” I say. I resist the urge to touch my throat, even though I can feel the distinct warmth of blood at my collar. “Something to help us.”

“Twenty-seventh level,” Berg says. His voice wavers as he speaks, as if some internal instinct begs him to be quiet. “Northeast wing. End of the last hallway. Elevator disguised as a locked door. 846538. You’ll find it at the bottom.”

“Find what?” I whisper. A hideous chill rolls up my spine and back down to my toes. Without permission, my thoughts flicker to Harrick. Does he know what I’ll find? Is it something horrible?

“846538,” Berg repeats. He steps backward, eyes steady on mine and knife still raised. He keeps moving, only hesitating when he reaches the opposite side of the building. “If they catch you, pray for a swift death.”

Then he’s gone. I linger for less than a minute before I exit out the way I came. It’s raining harder now, and the icy water collects in deep puddles around me. It doesn’t matter. I’m already soaked through to the bone, and I’m too busy repeating846538to feel the cold.

Once I reach the place I left Alven, I twist in a slow circle. Just when I’m sure he’s left, he appears from the shadows, snatching my hand. He yanks me back toward the hill, not speaking until we’ve gone several blocks.

“Quickly,” he says. “They’ve likely noticed our absence.”

My stomach sours at the thought. I have no idea how we’ll explain, especially since it’s clear we’ve been outside.

One thing at a time, I chastise myself.

The standing water thins as we move for the Chapter Building. I’m shivering, and my lips are numb from the splattering rain. I haven’t spoken anything other than Berg’s number when Alven suddenly jerks to a stop.

I look at him, but before he can offer an explanation, I hear it too.

The sound starts slow, growing louder with each passing second. A scream, I realize. It’s not one of terror, but of concentration, of animalistic hunger. I spin toward the sound, my hip colliding against Alven as he pulls me closer. We’re almost back to the Chapter Building, and yet, it suddenly feels so far.

Too far.

The man screams again. It takes me a moment to find him through the slanting downpour, but he’s there, standing in the center of the street. Even if he weren’t wearing the jarring violet of a royal, I would have known he didn’t belong here. He’s too built, too muscular to be a commoner. And he’s far too relaxed, too loud to be anything other than a descendant.

There’s a heavy pause as we stare at each other through the torrential rain. Alven’s hand pulses in mine, like he’s debating, debating, de?—

“Run.” He doesn’t scream it, doesn’t even raise his voice. It’s a quiet, lethal demand. One I don’t need to hear twice.

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