Page 57 of Fifth
“No. Not yet.” He pointed left to where the floodlit arc thinned. “There.”
She squinted, anxious to see what he already did, but the night held only dark. Anxiety twisted in her gut. “I don’t see anything.”
“You will,” he said, steady as bedrock. “Follow me.” The certainty in his tone made her chest tighten—part fear, part fierce, delicious trust.
He belly-crawled through oak leaves that crackled in her ears but carried nowhere. She pressed flat, damp leaves cold against her ribs. Atwig snagged her halter. She eased it free, breath catching in her chest.
They reached the edge of the light. Dark deepened where the fence jogged around stone. There, asluice of stacked rock ran under the fence where runoff had cut a path. Razor wire sagged into a loose, ugly snarl.
“We can’t fit,” she breathed, panic tightening her throat. The jagged wire loomed inches from her skin, and the thought of forcing her body through made her stomach clench.
“We will,” he said, voice calm as stone. “I will push the wire and you will slide. Iwill follow.” His certainty wrapped around her like armor, but the image of steel teeth catching her flesh made her tremble.
“There are men thirty yards away,” she whispered, every part of her screaming that they would be seen, dragged back, caged again.
“They are watching the gate. They are looking for movement. We will be stone.” His words sank into her chest, and though fear still coiled in her gut, she clung to the unshakable promise in histone.
He eased down into the cut and pressed his palm to the wire. It shifted with a hiss. He bit off a grunt as a barb caught skin. He didn’t pull back. He set his shoulder and forced just enough space.
“Now,” he said.
She flattened and slid. Barbs scraped her shoulder, then hip. Fabric tore and a line of fire scored her thigh. She didn’t cry out. Cold stone pressed her cheek. She pushed with her toes and wriggled through. The air felt wrong, as if she’d crossed a line that shouldn’t exist.
“Clear,” she whispered.
She watched as Locus forced his body through, the wire biting deep across his back. She winced at the flash of pain she imagined tearing through him, stunned at how he gave nothing away—not a sound, not a pause. It was as if the fence itself demanded a price he was too proud to pay aloud.
He dropped into a crouch beside her, close enough that his heat pressed into her side. His arm came up, palm firm across her mouth. Her pulse thundered against it as a floodlight swept by, white glare searing the stone. She held her breath, heart pounding like it might give them away. Only when the beam drifted on and settled back at the gate did he ease his hand away,leaving her shaken, her body tight with fear and the strange relief of having him sonear.
“You’re bleeding,” she whispered when his hand fell, her stomach twisting at the dark wetness across hisback. “Your back. Again.”
“Affirmative.” His answer was clipped, as if acknowledging it made itreal.
“It looks bad.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them. Her throat tightened. The thought of him falling was more terrifying than the hunters.
“It is not.” His calm denial only sharpened her frustration. Did he truly believe it, or was he just refusing to admit weakness?
“You always say that.” Her chest ached with the urge to shake him, to demand he stop acting like pain was nothing.
“It is always true.” He looked at her once, steady, as if willing her to accept the vow behind the words. “You forget. I am not human. I have been trained to experience pain differently.” And against her will, she experienced a shiver of belief, mingled with fear that one day it might not be true atall.
She wanted to argue, but not with men so close. Her body shook and her hands wouldn’t unclench as fast as her brain told them. Locus stepped in front of her, slid both hands around her face. Thumbs braced at her jaw, eyes steady and close.
“Look at me,” hesaid.
Her breath hitched. She wanted to close her eyes, to let the fear take her, but his voice anchored her.”I am,” she whispered, forcing her gaze up. His eyes caught hers, steady, unflinching, and something in her chest steadiedtoo.
“Good. You are not shaking from fear. You are shaking because your body is full of fight and there is nowhere to put it.” His words pressed into her, and she realized he saw straight through the tremors that made herweak.
Ugly laughter broke from her throat, half-relief, half-defiance. “That’s reassuring.” The truth was, she clung to his certainty like a lifeline.
“It is.” His answer came calm, solid, and she let it roll through her, willing her hands to stop shaking.
A cry rose behind them, warped and ugly, then cut short as if swallowed. Hannah’s stomach flipped. She knew that sound—Skinners. The clash of men, metal, and monsters carried on the air like a warning. Her skin prickled, every nerve telling her they weren’t free yet, that death was still huntingthem.
“They’ll keep coming,” she said, dread curling in her stomach. No matter how far they ran, she could feel the stress of boots and eyes chasingthem.
“Affirmative. Until we make them stop.” His certainty sounded unshakable, but her chest tightened with doubt. How could they stop somany?
