Candice.
I made it four steps down the corridor.
A hand grabbed my wrist.
Not Claude. This grip was different. Firm. Like the person had already decided and wasn’t letting go no matter what.
I spun around.
Killian.
He was still covered in dirt and blood, shirt torn, cut on his collarbone still bleeding. He had left the border the second Darian called him and now he stood here holding my wrist like I might vanish.
"Where are you going?" he asked. Low. Rough.
"Killian, you’re supposed to be at the border—"
"Darian called me," he cut in. "Where the hell are you going, Candice?"
I looked at my phone. The location pin. The photo of Leo and Lia holding hands.
"Let go of my wrist," I said.
"Candice."
"Let go—"
"Show me the message," he said.
I stared at him. He stared back. The hal
