Page 19 of The Panther's Price

She glanced at him, unsure. “What about me?”

“Areyouscared of what you might become?”

Evryn didn’t answer right away.

She thought about the fight in the alley. The way her body had moved without thinking. The raw instinct. The precision. She thought about how the shadows sometimes whispered, like theyknewher name before she did.

“I don’t know,” she said finally.

Lucien nodded once, like that was the only honest answer.

They made camp near a split in the trail, beneath the ruins of what might’ve once been a shrine. Vines had claimed most of it, but a few worn carvings remained—panther sigils faded into the stone, eyes gouged out by time.

Lucien didn’t build a fire. Just tossed down his cloak and sat cross-legged, quiet as always. Watching.

Evryn didn’t ask questions.

She curled into herself against the roots of an old tree, wrapping her arms around her knees, heart heavy and eyes dry.

She didn’t trust him. But she didn’t fear him either.

And that was almost worse.

She remembered how his eyes had looked back at the train station—silver bright and full of some twisted cocktail of guilt and loyalty. She didn’t understand him, but she felt something in him that echoed in her.

Like they were both waiting for the other to make a move neither of them could take back.

That night, she dreamed of fire. And a panther crowned in silver.

Its body was sleek, glowing faintly under a blood-red moon. It paced a crumbling marble throne, eyes burning like molten steel, tail flicking in rhythm with a heartbeat she didn’t realize was her own.

In the dream, the throne cracked beneath her feet. Flames licked up through the floor. And somethinginsideher stirred—ancient and aching, hungry and holy all at once.

She woke with a start.

Lucien was already standing, back to her, facing the horizon.

The sky had lightened to a hazy indigo.

Evryn didn’t speak. But part of her knew the dream hadn’t been a warning.

It was a beginning.

NINE

LUCIEN

The girl didn’t ask questions right away.

She just looked at him like she could peel him open with her eyes alone.

Lucien had felt stares like hers before—from generals, assassins, and monsters in men’s skin. But never like this. Never wrapped in exhaustion and raw nerve, with the kind of steady focus that saidI don’t trust you, but I need to understand you anyway.

She rose from the moss-covered tree root where she’d slept, brushing her hands down her pants. Her dark auburn curls were tangled. Her voice was scratchy with sleep.

“You knew where I was.”

He didn’t flinch.

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