He’s losing control.

We’re falling.

I hear him snarl in frustration, his hold on me tightening, his body twisting mid-air to shield me as we crash into the rocky terrain below.

The impact shatters through me.

We hit hard, rolling over jagged stone and loose gravel, Naranus taking the worst of it, his massive form bracing me from the worst of the fall. The moment we stop moving, I shove up onto my elbows, my head spinning.

He’s already moving.

Already forcing himself to his feet, blood slicking his back, his wing torn.

“We need to go,” he rasps, eyes wild, breath heavy. “They’ll be on us soon.”

I push myself up, legs shaking, trying to steady my balance. “You can’t fly,” I say, stating the obvious, my heart hammering.

His golden eyes lock onto mine. "Then we run."

A shadow passes over us.

They’re still hunting.

Still searching.

Naranus grabs my wrist, dragging me toward the rocky outcroppings beyond. He’s injured, but he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t falter, moving as if the pain is nothing but a minor inconvenience.

I struggle to keep up, my breath ragged, my body aching, but I push forward, matching his pace.

We run.

Through the twisting caverns of stone, through the winding trails that lead further away from the stronghold.

Further from safety.

But there’s no other option.

Behind us, I can hear the wingbeats of the rogues, their low snarls of frustration as they search.

They can’t see us.

Not yet.

Naranus drags me into a narrow crevice, pressing his back against the stone, his chest rising and falling with sharp, controlled breaths. I flatten against the opposite wall, trying to steady my own racing pulse.

The voices of the rogues drift closer.

“She has to be dead.”

“If she was, we’d see her body.”

"Then find them."

I grip the stone beneath my fingers, my nails digging in.

Silence stretches between us, thick, charged. I glance up at Naranus, his molten gaze locked onto me. His face is unreadable, his body rigid, his mind already calculating our next move.

We are too far.