Chapter 29 Chapter 29: Through the Snow.

Chapter 29 Chapter 29: Through the Snow.

The tunnel swallowed us whole.
One moment we were in the maintenance corridor—flickering lights, smell of rust and motor oil—the next the panel clanged shut behind us and darkness pressed in like wet cloth. 
My phone flashlight cut a thin white beam ahead, trembling because my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The partial shift had left me raw: palms torn where claws had pushed through, ribs aching where bones tried and failed to reshape, veins still faintly cold from whatever runes the blood draw had left behind. Every few steps, the chill pulsed deeper, like ice threading under skin, reminding me the binding was already working.
Kieran walked in front, coatless now, shoulders rigid. The silver burn across his ribs smoked faintly whenever he breathed too deeply. He didn’t complain. Didn’t even glance back at it. But I could smell the scorched flesh mixing with pine and blood—his blood. Lyra stumbled between us.
She hadn’t spoken since the confession in the stairwell. Just clutched her side where the enforcer’s blade had grazed her—shallow but bleeding steadily through her sweater. Her breathing came in short, wet gasps. Every few yards, she had to stop, lean against the damp stone, eyes squeezed shut.

We weren’t running anymore. We were moving—careful, quiet, listening for boots behind us. The sirens still wailed topside, muffled through layers of earth and concrete, but closer now. 
They knew we’d gone underground. They’d find the panel eventually. Kieran slowed at a fork—three tunnels branching like veins. He chose the middle one without hesitation. 
“This connects to the old steam lines under the arena annex. Less traveled. Fewer cameras. ”I nodded, too tired to argue. 
We walked another ten minutes in silence, broken only by dripping water and Lyra’s ragged breaths. The air grew colder, damper. My teeth chattered despite Kieran’s coat wrapped tight around me. 
The fabric still carried his warmth, his scent—pine, snow, the faint copper of his own blood. I pressed my nose to the collar once when no one was looking. It steadied me. Finally, the tunnel widened into a small chamber—old pump room, maybe. Rusted pipes snaked along the walls. 
A single bare bulb hung from a cord, long burned out. Kieran stopped, swept his flashlight across the space. “Rest here. Five minutes. ”Lyra sank against the wall immediately, sliding down until she sat on the cold stone. Her face was gray. Blood had soaked half her sweater now. She looked at her hand—red and sticky—and started crying again, silent this time.
I knelt beside her. “Let me see. ”She lifted her sweater hem with shaking fingers. The cut was ugly—four inches across her lower ribs, shallow but jagged. 
Not deep enough to hit organs, but bleeding steadily. I tore a strip from the sleeve of Kieran’s coat—sorry, I mouthed at him over my shoulder. He just nodded once.
I pressed the fabric to the wound. Lyra hissed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I should have told you sooner. About the ping. About everything. I thought… if I gave her something small, she’d back off.
 I thought I could protect him alone.” “You kept him breathing,” I said quietly. “That’s more than most people ever manage. ”She shook her head. Tears slipped down her cheeks. “I almost got you killed tonight.” “You didn’t.” I tied the makeshift bandage as tight as I dared. 
“We’re still here. ”She looked up at me—eyes red, searching. “You’re not angry?” “I was.” I sat beside her, shoulder to shoulder. “But anger doesn’t keep Finn alive. You did. ”She leaned her head against the wall. Closed her eyes. “I don’t know how to fix this. “You don’t have to fix it alone anymore. ”Kieran watched us from across the chamber—flashlight pointed down so it wouldn’t blind us. 
His own wound was worse than he’d let on. The silver burn had spread—red lines creeping outward from the gash like veins of fire under his skin. He leaned against a pipe, arms crossed, trying to hide how much it hurt. 
I stood. Walked to him. “Let me look. ”He shook his head. “It’s nothing.” “It’s silver. It’s nothing.
”He exhaled through his nose—sharp, pained. Then he lifted the hem of his shirt just enough. The burn was ugly: four parallel slashes across his lower ribs, edges blackened, smoking faintly. Blood had dried in streaks down his side. The skin around it looked inflamed, almost bruised. 
My stomach twisted. I reached out—slow—fingertips brushing the edge of the wound. He hissed, body tensing, but didn’t pull away. “This is because of me,” I said. “No.” His voice was rough. “This is because of me. I should have ended it sooner. Should have gotten you out before the blood draw. Before Elara. Before—” Stop. ”He looked at me—gold flickering again in the dark. 
I pressed my palm flat against the uninjured skin beside the burn. Warm. Alive. His heartbeat thudded under my hand—fast, unsteady. “You’re not wrong anymore,” I whispered. His eyes closed for a second. When they opened again, they were softer—almost broken.

“The first time I felt it wasn’t during training,” he said so low I almost didn’t hear. “It was the night you saw the ritual. You looked through that window—terrified, furious, beautiful—and I should have raised the alarm. I should have dragged you inside. Instead, I just… watched you run. And something in me cracked. I’ve hated myself for it ever since.
”My throat closed. He leaned forward until our foreheads touched. “I was supposed to be the one cornering you,” he murmured. “Every day since then. Every time I trained you, I was supposed to be breaking you. And I still chose wrong. Every single time. Until tonight. ”Heat bloomed under my ribs—not the shift. Something quieter. Deeper. “Then keep choosing wrong,” I said. 
A small, broken laugh escaped him. “I intend to. ”His hand came up—cupped the back of my neck. Thumb brushed the pulse there. We stayed like that—foreheads pressed, breathing each other’s air—until Lyra’s soft sob pulled us apart. Reality crashed back. 
Kieran straightened. Winced as the movement tugged the burn. “We need to move,” he said. “They’ll sweep the tunnels soon. ”I nodded. We helped Lyra up. She leaned heavily on me as we started deeper—toward the arena undercroft, toward whatever waited under the blood moon. 
The tunnel narrowed again. Pipes dripped. Our footsteps echoed too loudly. Then Rowan’s burner phone buzzed—signal weak, but alive. Kieran answered. Put it on speaker. Rowan’s voice crackled through static.
“Extraction’s delayed. Storm grounded the chopper. Earliest is dawn—maybe later. Voss just made the announcement campus-wide. Final Trial is tonight. Public execution of the traitors to cleanse the pack. They’re herding students into the arena now. If you’re not there by moonrise, they start killing legacies as examples.
”Kieran’s face went stone. Sage felt the runes in her veins pulse again—faint ice, wolf snarling but muffled, distant.
 She looked at Kieran.  He looked back. And somewhere behind them—faint, mournful—the ghost wolf howled once more. Then—closer than it should have been—Elara’s voice echoed through a rusted speaker grille in the tunnel wall. “I can smell your blood, little wolf. And Thorne’s. You have until moonrise to come to the arena… or I start with the roommate’s brother. Tick-tock.”