Chapter 75: Neutral City

\- SELENE

The descent from the Spires was a blur of sliding shale and muttered curses. By the time the ground leveled out into the scrubby, trash-strewn outskirts of the Neutral City, my legs felt like they were made of overcooked noodles. The air here didn’t taste like the crisp, biting frost of the peaks anymore; it tasted like diesel exhaust, stale grease, and the humid rot of a place that never sleeps.

"Check your pace," Rowan murmured, his hand catching my elbow as I nearly tripped over a rusted piece of rebar sticking out of the mud. "We need to look like we belong here. Not like we just climbed out of a grave."

"I feel like I climbed out of a grave," I whispered back, wiping a smudge of black grease across my cheek. "Actually, the grave might have been more comfortable. At least it's quiet."

We were standing at the edge of the "industrial fringe"—a graveyard of abandoned warehouses and flickering neon signs that marked the beginning of the Neutral Zone's capital. It was a sprawling, lawless mess of a city where the only thing that mattered was the weight of your credits, not the color of your eyes or the rank of your pack.

"Straight ahead," Rowan said, nodding toward a diner that looked like it hadn't been cleaned since the last Great War. A buzzing sign above the door read The Rusty Bolt, though the 'B' was flickering so violently it looked like it was having a seizure. "Galen should have left a mark near the service entrance if they made it."

"And if they didn't?"

Rowan didn't look at me, but his grip on my arm tightened for a split second. "They made it. Galen’s too mean to die in a ditch."

We walked toward the diner, trying to mimic the slumped, exhausted gait of the factory workers drifting home from the night shift. My silk skirts were a lost cause—I’d tucked the shredded ends into my waistband, making it look more like a bulky, mismatched tunic than a gown. I looked like a refugee. I felt like one, too.

"There," I said, pointing to a small, jagged scratch on the brickwork near the dumpsters. It was three vertical lines crossed by a diagonal. Galen’s signature.

"They’re inside," Rowan breathed, the tension in his shoulders dropping just a fraction.

"Rowan, wait." I pulled him back into the shadows of an alleyway. "Look at us. We’re covered in soot, I’ve got blood on my neck, and you look like you’re ready to shoot the first person who says 'good morning.' We walk in there like this, and we’re a beacon for every bounty hunter in the city."

"What do you suggest?" he asked, his eyes scanning the street.

"We need to lose the 'Luna' look," I said. I looked at his heavy tactical jacket. "Give me your overshirt. And your knife."

He didn't argue. He stripped off the dark outer layer and handed it to me. I pulled it on, the fabric still warm from his skin. It was huge on me, reaching mid-thigh, which was perfect for hiding the remains of my dress. I took the knife and, with a few quick, brutal hacks, sawed off the rest of my skirts until I was left with a rough, uneven tunic and the leggings I’d worn underneath for the climb.

I shoved my matted hair up into a messy knot and rubbed some more dirt onto my neck to cover the pale skin where the silver necklace used to be.

"Better?" I asked.

Rowan looked me up and down, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. "You look like a street rat."

"Perfect. That’s the goal," I said. "Now, you. Lose the holster. Tuck the piece into the small of your back. You’re not a soldier right now, Rowan. You’re just a guy trying to get a coffee."

He made the adjustments, his movements fluid and quick. He looked less like a threat and more like a very dangerous man trying to blend in. Which, honestly, was the best we could hope for.

We pushed through the heavy glass door of the diner. A bell chimed—a tinny, annoying sound that made my skin crawl. The smell of burnt coffee and cheap bacon hit me like a physical wall.

"Booth in the back," Rowan muttered, steering me toward a corner shrouded in steam and shadow.

I saw them before they saw us. Galen was slumped over a mug of something dark, his eyes fixed on the door. Liora and Betsy were sitting next to him, her head resting on her hand. And next to her, looking like a drowned rat in a pile of oversized flannels, was Vireya.

Galen’s hand went under the table the second we approached, but he relaxed when he saw Rowan's face.

"Jeez," Galen exhaled, leaning back. "I thought you two were ghosting us."

"We took the scenic route," I said, sliding into the booth next to Liora. "Is everyone okay?"

Liora looked at me, her eyes red-rimmed from exhaustion. "We’re alive. Vireya threw up three times on the ride over, but she’s still breathing."

I looked at the mistress. She was staring into her lap, her fingers twisting a loose thread on her sleeve. She didn't look like the woman who had smirked at me from across the banquet table. She looked small and broken.

She looked up, her eyes wide and hollow. "You... you actually came back."

"I told you I was the bait, didn't I?" I leaned in, my voice dropping. "Did you see anyone following you? Any scouts near the gate?"

"No," she whispered. "Galen took us through the old sewer lines. It was... it was disgusting."

"It was effective," Galen grunted. "The Ravens wouldn't touch that sludge even if Kaelen offered them a kingdom. But they’ll be here soon. Varick isn't the type to sit on a mountain and cry about his bruises."

"He’s got more than bruises," I said. "I hit him with the Bane."

Galen let out a low whistle. "Damn, Selene. Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"You're already on it, Galen. You just haven't realized it yet," I said, managing a tired smirk.

"So, what's the move?" Liora asked, her voice trembling slightly. "We can't stay here. The diner owner looks like he's ten seconds away from calling the wardens."

"We move to the Safe House at dawn," Rowan said. "We have to get Vireya to the High Council rep by midday. Once she’s in their custody, Kaelen can't touch her without starting a full-scale war with the Neutral Zone."

"And what about us?" I asked, looking at him. "Once the High Council has her, what happens to us?"

Rowan looked at me, and for the first time since we’d left the manor, I saw a flicker of real uncertainty in his eyes. "We disappear. We’re going off the grid. No pack laws, no Alphas breathing down our necks. Just the two of us."

"Sounds like a dream," I said, though my stomach did a nervous little flip.

Suddenly, the door of the diner swung open. A man in a long, grease-stained trench coat stepped in, his eyes immediately scanning the room. He wasn't a worker. He had that look—the stillness of a tracker.

"Rowan," I hissed under my breath.

"I see him," Rowan replied, his hand moving slowly toward his back.

The man’s gaze stopped on our booth. He didn't look at me. He looked straight at Vireya. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, black device. A comms unit.

"Fuck," Galen muttered, his hand going back under the table. "They're already here."

"Not necessarily," I said, my brain working at a hundred miles an hour. "He hasn't called it in yet. He’s confirming the target."

"We need to go," Liora whispered, her face pale. "Now."

"If we run, we confirm it," Rowan said. "Wait for my lead."

The man started walking toward us, his boots thudding softly on the linoleum. He looked like every other low-life in the Neutral Zone, but the way he carried his shoulders said he’d been trained by the best.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice a smooth, practiced rasp. He stopped at the edge of our table. "You folks seen a girl? About her height, dark hair, looks a bit... out of place?"

He was looking directly at Vireya. She started to tremble, her fork clattering against the plate.

"Lots of girls in the city, pal," Galen said, his voice flat and bored. "Maybe try the brothels down on 4th. Most of the 'out of place' ones end up there."

The man didn't blink. He leaned over the table, his eyes narrowing. "I’m not looking for a whore. I’m looking for a guest of the Silver Ridge. There’s a very large reward for her return. And an even larger one for the head of the man who took her."

He looked at Rowan then. The air in the booth turned electric. I could feel the violence vibrating off both of them, a silent tension that was seconds away from exploding into a bloodbath in the middle of a shitty diner.

"You should move along," Rowan said, his voice a low, dangerous warning. "Before you find out exactly why she’s not going back."

"I think I’ll stay," the man said, his hand moving toward his coat.

I didn't wait. I grabbed my mug of lukewarm, "battery acid" tea and threw it straight into his face.

He roared, his hands flying to his eyes as the hot liquid blinded him. Rowan was over the table in a heartbeat, his fist connecting with the man’s jaw with a sound like a wet towel hitting a wall. Galen grabbed Vireya, and Liora held Betsy, hauling them toward the kitchen exit.

"Go! Go!" I yelled, shoving past the stunned waitress.

We burst through the back door into the alleyway, the cold morning air hitting us like a bucket of ice water.

"Which way?" Liora panted.

"The docks!" Rowan shouted. "If we can get to the water, we can lose them in the fog!"

We ran through the trash, through the puddles of oil and God-knows-what. Behind us, I heard the man screaming into his radio, calling for reinforcements.

Kaelen wasn't just coming for us. He was already here.

And as I sprinted down the narrow, grimy street, my hand locked in Rowan’s, I realized the "Neutral Zone" wasn't going to be the sanctuary we’d hoped for.

It was just a bigger cage.