Page 92 of Savage Crown

They’ve found us.

And they’re waiting for us to slip.

The safe house is already a memory, the stone walls and fire-warmed air abandoned as we weave through the labyrinth of the slums.

The city smells of wet earth and filth, of blood lingering in unseen corners.

I keep my steps light, my breathing even, but every muscle in my body coils.

Rylan walks ahead, his posture loose, but I know better.

He’s ready to kill.

So am I.

I clutch the dagger at my hip, my fingers slick with sweat.

The silence stretches until it can’t any longer.

Everything explodes into chaos.

A sudden trickle of arrows turns into a wave in a mere second, and I throw myself behind a stack of broken crates, my breath ragged as splinters burst around me.

Rylan moves like a shadow in a storm, already reaching for his blades. Figures emerge from the alleys, dark-cloaked, armed with curved daggers and crossbows. Their eyes gleam in the dim torchlight—dark elves, trained assassins, Nhilian’s men.

There are too many.

A voice sneers from the shadows. “Found you.”

A tall, scarred elf steps forward, a cruel smile curling across his lips.

Rylan doesn’t react. His grip tightens on his daggers.

“That’s unfortunate,” he murmurs.

The nearest assassin lunges for Rylan. A flash of steel. A grunt. Blood sprays across the alley walls. Two come for me.

The first swings a blade for my ribs. I twist, barely dodging, the edge grazing my tunic. The second reaches for my throat. I drive my dagger into his thigh, twisting until he howls in pain. I shove him back, kicking him into the mud.

The first one attacks again and I block. Barely. His strength outmatches mine, but I am faster. I duck low, slicing his knee. He staggers, leaving himself open for me to drive my dagger straight into his chest.

When I turn around, I watch another assassin charge Rylan, but he’s only sealing his own death. Rylan grabs him by the throat, drives his dagger under his ribs, and lets the body crumple.

His expression is calm, merciless. His emerald eyes burn like cold fire. He barely looks at me before turning to the scarred elf, who I presume to be the leader.

Nhilian’s hound.

The elf smirks, unfazed by the bodies littering the ground.

“You can’t run forever, Rylan.”

Rylan tilts his head. “I don’t need to.”

The elf raises a hand.

A signal.

More footsteps.

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