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Overhanging the camp was the weight of the moment. They hurried the injured body that had fallen at their feet to the healers, but their warning reverberated like an unrelenting drumbeat in Thalia's head.

Hurry.

Thalia stood with her jaw clenched and her arms crossed at the edge of the clearing. Every thought she had left her with more questions than answers. Who was Killian taking? What was his real goal? What trap had they just stepped into, more importantly?

The Ryker paced behind her. He moved with purpose and a sharp edge. His eyes had a sharpened resolve and intensity that had been growing for weeks, but now that this had happened, it had completely solidified into something unbreakable.

"We're not running," he whispered, more to himself than to anybody else.

Thalia looked in his direction as she turned. "I never claimed that we were."

With a sharp exhale, Ryker stopped directly in front of her. "After that, we proceed. First, we attack.

A flicker of something—frustration, perhaps—passed through Thalia’s eyes. “Blindly? Without knowing what Killian’s genuinely playing at?”

Ryker's jaw tightened. "Enough is known to us."

"We are aware of what he wants us to know."

A sudden gust of wind rustled the branches above as it sliced through the clearing. Ryker wiped a hand across his jaw and let out a breath. She was correct, he knew. It was exactly what Killian expected them to do, charging in now without knowing the whole story.

Thalia moved in closer. This time, her tone was softer without sacrificing firmness. The advantage is lost if we act too quickly. Now, Ryker, he's playing a different game. That is what we must be prepared for.

He caught her gaze, probing. There was no hesitancy in her stance. No doubt. This was not the same woman who had been standing in the shadows, waiting for someone else to make her decisions, he realized. Thalia had changed.

She was no longer responding negatively to Killian's brutality. She was in charge.

Slowly, Ryker nodded once. "All right," he replied. "Then we prepare."

A recognizable voice broke the tenseness.

"And what precisely does 'getting ready' mean?"

With his arms folded across his chest, Cassius strode into the clearing, and they both turned. Devlin and Marek, two of their warriors, stood at his sides, their faces unreadable.

Thalia made a thin line with her lips. "It indicates that we are getting ready for the future."

Cassius raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that?"

As the first signs of dawn started to fade the darkness of the night, Ryker cast a glance toward the horizon. "We outsmart Killian before he even realizes what's going on."

There was a low laugh from Cassius. "You have a plan for that, I assume?"

Ryker turned to look at him. Along the eastern perimeter, we bolster our defenses by double. Killian might send a second message if he sends the first one—one less... restrained.

Cassius nodded, his mind already working. “And the inmate?”

Ryker paused at the statement. Though she was already ahead of him, his eyes briefly strayed to Thalia.

"We must ascertain their identities," she stated in a steady voice. "And the degree of danger they present."

Cassius hummed to himself. "You believe that it's a trap."

"I recognize the trap."

Marek moved to his side. "Do we consider them a threat, then?"

Ryker blew out a breath. "No." Not yet. However, I always want eyes on them.

Cassius didn't dispute it. He gave one nod and turned back to the camp, beckoning Devlin and Marek to follow.

When they were gone, Thalia turned back to Ryker and let out a breath.

Negotiations won't be the end of this, she muttered.

Ryker's face became gloomy. "No." It will not.

Between them, there was a hush that was heavy with the weight of unspoken realities. They both knew what had to be done.

A hand swept through Ryker's hair. "Killian is desperate if he's willing to offer a prisoner."

Thalia gave it a nod. "Desperate men make bad decisions."

Something that looked almost like a smirk formed on Ryker's lips. Excellent. And we do, too.

Something like hope flickered in Thalia's mind for the first time in hours. Because she wasn't fighting this battle alone for the first time in a long time, not because it was nearly won.

This was something they were all involved in.

The sound of hasty footsteps approaching, however, broke the moment.

Devlin came back with a gloomy face. "You should see this."

Ryker and Thalia looked at each other and then followed him to the healer's tent. Although the room smelled of damp linen and herbs, Thalia's attention was drawn to the figure that was still on the cot.

The inmate, whoever they were, had not moved. Their wounds had been tended to, but their breathing was shallow, unsteady.

The healer, a middle-aged woman named Lyra, stood at the bedside, pressing a damp cloth against the prisoner’s forehead. Her expression was tight with unease.

“They haven’t woken since they arrived,” she murmured. “But their condition is... strange.”

Thalia frowned. “Strange how?”

Lyra hesitated, looked between her and Ryker. “Their injuries are severe, but not fresh. Whatever happened to them—it wasn’t recent. And yet...” She trailed off, shaking her head. “They were barely alive when you found them, as if something had been keeping them on the edge of death. Something unnatural.”

Ryker’s jaw stiffened. “Magic?”

Lyra pursed her lips. "Maybe. Or something worse.”

Thalia came closer, her gaze studying the prisoner’s face. They were emaciated, gaunt, their skin pale with an almost sickening undertone. And yet, beneath the layers of bruises and grime, there was something familiar about them.

She inhaled sharply.

Then, as she was about to—

A stifled, broken sound came from the prisoner’s lips.

The breath left Thalia's mouth.

The figure's eyes flickered open slowly and painfully.

The only sound for a minute was quiet.

Next—

Their gaze fixed onto Thalia’s.

Their expression flickered with recognition.

Thalia’s stomach twisted.

The inmate's lips quivered as they attempted to speak. As though they hadn't talked in days, their voice was broken and scratchy.

“You—” Their whole body trembled from the strain as a cough swept through them. When Lyra tried to assist, they waved her away feebly.

Their gaze never left Thalia’s.

And then, just above a whisper—

“You shouldn’t have come back.”

The words sent a chill down her spine.

The tent was silent.

Then Ryker stepped forward, his voice low, menacing. “Who are you?”

Dazedly, the prisoner blinked and swallowed. Their breaths hitched as they fought to focus. And then, lips separating, they rasped—

“Someone who knows what Killian is planning.”

The tension in the room cracked like a tightened wire.

Thalia and Ryker looked at each other.

Whatever was coming next—Killian wasn’t just desperate.

He was ready.