The search passed the alley three times before the light began to fade.
Each time the boots came closer, the voices sharper. I counted the footsteps, measured the distance between the shouts. The brand under its wrapping gave occasional low, ugly pulses, each one a reminder that Rowan's hunters were still searching, still patient, still hungry. Each pulse was answered by a matching spike of nausea through the bond. I felt my stomach lurch, felt the world tilt. Darius's face stayed gray, his jaw tight with the effort of staying silent. The reopened wound in his thigh had slowed but never fully stopped seeping. I felt every heartbeat of it, a dull, constant ache that matched my own.
The market woman brought no more food and asked no questions. She moved through the small house with the eff
