Thick condensation dripped from the overhead pipes, each drop hitting the steel grating with a flat, metallic ping that echoed through the filtration plant like a slow clock.
Zane had Lady Elara pinned against the primary manifold. His grip stayed firm—no cruelty in it, just weight and leverage.
Shivering inside her ruined spider-silk coat, the Pale Lady stared back at him with eyes that had forgotten how to be superior.
Funny how that worked.
Over a week ago, she'd dictated the terms of his survival from pristine balconies, voice dripping with the casual boredom of someone who'd never missed a meal.
Now her life balanced on the edge of his silver sword, and the humid air between them tasted like rust and fear.
"You want the Cathedral," Elara breathed. The aristocratic mask was cr
