Page 38 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

She's right. I made my choice when I let them take her. When I stood still as she was dragged away. I could have at least been the one voice of reason in the crowd. Instead, I hid. Why be on good terms with the council if I cannot use it to help Elara?

Anyway I'm making a different choice now.

I step closer, keeping my voice low. "I need you to trust me, just this once."

She exhales sharply, watching me like I might betray her again. But she doesn't fight as I grab her wrist and pull her to her feet.

We don't have time to drag our feet. For all I know, the guard has probably raised an alarm or let it slip to a higher-up that he's been relieved of his duty.

We slip through the halls and the shadows stretching beneath the cold artificial lights appear strange and nightmarish. I pay attention to my breathing. I need to keep my wits about me, especially because Elara's fate is in my hands now. My mind is a map, tracing the safest route, avoiding patrols, and timing every step with the shift rotations I memorized years ago.

The exit is close.

One last door.

Then the alarm blares.

The sound is deafening, ricocheting off the walls like machine-gun fire. A blinding red light floods the corridor and my stomach drops.

Damn it.

I shove Elara forward. "Run."

She hesitates only a second before bolting, her bare feet barely making a sound against the floor. I follow immediately, pushing her ahead, as my mind races with the possibilities of the worst case scenario. This wasn't supposed to happen yet. I'd timed everything down to the second. What went wrong?

The hallway ahead branches into two. I know where each one leads—the left goes to a maintenance corridor that opens into the service docks, while the right would lead us to an open courtyard swarming with patrols.

"Elara, left!" I grab her wrist and yank her in the right direction just as the pounding of boots echoes from behind us.

They're fast.

We have seconds.

I slam my shoulder into the maintenance door, feeling it give way under my weight. The passage beyond is dark, lined with rusting pipes and the faint scent of engine oil.

We're not safe yet.

I grip Elara's hand, pulling her forward. "Keep running."

Because if we stop now, we're dead.

The safe house is small, hidden in the industrial district where the Council's reach is weakest. The moment we cross the threshold, I slam the door shut behind us, bolting it.

The air inside is heavy with dust and disuse. A single lamp casts flickering light across cracked walls. The wooden floor creaks softly beneath us. The space is barely furnished—a worn-out couch, a rickety table, a cot pushed against the wall. Nothing here feels lived-in. Just another hollow refuge, meant for passing ghosts.

Elara stands in the center of the room, arms crossed, breathing hard.

She hasn't said a word since we ran.

Now, she turns. Her gaze pins me in place."You risked everything,"she says.

I don't answer.

I don't have to.

She steps closer, voice quiet but sharp."Why?"

The truth is a Gordian knot in my chest.

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