Page 84 of New World

Dorane’s voice was tight, distant. “Saffin and Jaytin.”

His younger siblings.

Mei pressed her lips together, her heart aching as Dorane moved deeper into the house. She followed, her fingers caressing the carvings on the Staff.

The first room belonged to his parents. The ghost of a blue dress shifted where it had been caught on a broken window.

The second room was smaller. Colorful drawings decorated the crumbling walls—a child’s vision of beauty, still clinging despite the ruin.

“Saffin’s artwork,” Dorane murmured before turning away from the doorway.

The last room held two beds. One mattress was missing. The other had been torn apart by rodents, the stuffing a shredded, desperate attempt at warmth.

Dorane’s voice was flat. “I used the blankets to cover them. I burned my mattress to stay warm.”

Something inside Mei shattered. She moved before she even thought about it, stepping into his arms, wrapping herself around him. She couldn’t erase his past, couldn’t go back and undo his suffering, but she could be here now.

He tensed for a moment. Then he let her in. His arms slid around her, strong, steady, holding her as she held him.

For a long moment, they stood in the wreckage of his childhood, surrounded by ghosts and echoes, and claimed something real.

Mei’s voice was barely a whisper. “I only lost one person who I truly loved. My mother. I was twelve.” She swallowed. “I can’t imagine what you went through.”

Dorane exhaled sharply, his lips against her hair. “Pain is pain.” He locked eyes with her. “We’re not alone now, you and I.”

The words swelled inside her, crashing over her with the intense emotion behind them. She didn’t let him speak again. She kissed him, fierce, desperate to show him what he meant to her.

Dorane returned it with the same fire, his fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer, deeper. When they finally pulled apart, her breath mingled with his, her forehead pressed against his.

“Don’t leave me, Mei. Sergi warned me you might try to go off alone.”

Mei’s eyes widened before she huffed a rueful laugh. “Of course he did.”

Dorane brushed a kiss against her palm, his eyes filled with something softer than amusement. “Trust in our plan.”

Mei stared at him, feeling how fundamentally something had shifted in her core. She had not even considered leaving him. This wasn’t just her fight. It never was. And he was her partner.

Her fingers tightened in his. “I do. We’ll do this together.”

They shared an intimate smile and turned together, stepping toward the back exit, toward the garden beyond the shattered home.

Mei’s pulse slowed, her breath even.

Zoak was waiting.

They were ready.

21

The moment they stepped into the garden, Zoak felt the sharp thrill of triumph coil in his chest. Everything had fallen into place. Dorane. The woman. The graves.

Dorane had led himself and the Ancient Knight into the jaws of death, just as Zoak had known he would.

He had waited in the crumbling remains of the hut for hours, resisting the urge to shift, to drink, to stretch his aching muscles. Sweat dripped down his forehead, sliding hot and slow along his spine, but he ignored it. Discomfort was part of the hunt. His patience would be rewarded in the trophies he claimed.

Through the scope, he watched Dorane turn just enough for a clean shot to the chest. Zoak’s lips curled.

Now.

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