Eira’s POV
"Run."
The word isn’t a suggestion. It’s a physical command, yanking at my muscles like a hook behind my ribs. Deep in my chest, the third heartbeat answers making a quiet, steady rhythm that completely ignores my own racing pulse.
I spin on my heel, my boots gliding on the dusty stone, ready to sprint back the way we came.
Art’s hand clamps around my upper arm. His grip is bruising, feeling absolute.
"Where?" he asks. His voice laced with alertness sounding lowly, roughing us out of panic.
I open my mouth, but my mind still feels blank, in a terrifying slate. "I don't know."
The massive heartbeat that was shaking the dust from the ceiling just... stops.
The agonizing drag of chains ceases. The sound of wings folding into the dark van
