They moved at dawn.

  Not because dawn made things safer.

  Because Jina’s body didn’t have the luxury of waiting.

  The fire in the rock shelter had burned down to dull coals. The air tasted like ash and bitter herb. Jina’s throat still burned from coughing up blood, and every time she swallowed, her chest reminded her she was made of bruises and bad decisions.

  Lysander packed in silence.

  Everything he owned fit in a worn leather bag and the spaces of his belt—knife, flask, flint, herbs, a strip of cloth he used as bandage without calling it that. He moved like a soldier who’d learned not to waste motion.

  Jina watched him for a second and forced her eyes away.

  Because watching him made her start assuming he would catch her if she fell.

  And she didn’t like needing anyone.

  She pushed herself up.

  The world tilted.

  Her knees buckled.

  Lysander’s hand shot out and caught her elbow.

  He paused. As if he could stop time with manners.

  “May I,” he said.

  Jina’s jaw tightened. It wasn’t the question that bothered her. It was the fact he asked it like her consent still mattered.

  Like she wasn’t a tyrant princess with chains tied to four men’s souls.

  Like she was… a person.

  She nodded once.

  His grip closed, firm enough to stabilize, not firm enough to hurt.

  “Slow,” he said.

  “Do you ever stop giving instructions?” she muttered.

  “No,” he said, without irony.

  Jina snorted, and then immediately regretted it because it turned into a cough.

  The cough turned into a wet, scraping sound that made her vision sparkle at the edges.

  Blood rose in her throat.

  She swallowed it down and tasted metal.

  Lysander didn’t react the way most people reacted to blood.

  He reacted like it was data.

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re worse.”

  “I’m fine,” Jina lied automatically.

  His stare didn’t soften. “You’re not.”

  Jina forced a breath and steadied herself with the rock wall.

  “Okay,” she said, because denial didn’t change the fact her hands were shaking. “I’m not. But we still move.”

  Lysander held her gaze for a beat, then nodded once, like he’d accept any plan as long as the plan included her staying alive.

  He shifted position—close enough that if she fell, she’d fall into him.

  Jina didn’t comment.

  They left the shelter and stepped into the Wastes.

  It looked different in daylight.

  Not prettier.

  Just more honest.

  The land was broken into jagged slabs, as if something enormous had once tried to claw its way out of the earth and left scars behind. Thin dust swirled at ankle height. Dead shrubs clung to life out of spite. In the distance, rock spires rose like teeth.

  Jina tried not to imagine what kind of creature had made a place like this.

  The cold bit through her clothes, but the poison made her sweat at the same time. She couldn’t tell if she was freezing or fevered. Probably both.

  She focused on her steps.

  One. Two. Three.

  Her heart stuttered on the fourth.

  She breathed through it.

  The threads followed her like shadows she couldn’t outrun.

  They stretched out from her ribs and vanished into the horizon. In daylight they looked thinner, almost subtle, until they pulsed—then they lit up with sensation.

  Anger.

  Fear.

  Sharp amusement.

  Fire.

  Jina kept her eyes forward.

  No pulling, she reminded herself. No forcing. No Commands.

  She’d already learned what happened when she tried to rip at the wrong mechanism.

  Backlash.

  Blood.

  Screams she felt in her teeth.

  But she couldn’t do nothing. Not when her chest still hurt from the last yank, and not when the poison sat in her blood like an occupying army.

  She needed a different lever.

  A different kind of power.

  Heal.

  She didn’t have a manual. She didn’t even have a word for the way it felt when it happened. But she’d done it once in a panic—warmth pouring from somewhere deep into a wound—and it had worked.

  It had also nearly dropped her.

  Cost. That was the word she had.

  Nothing came free here.

  They walked until the sun climbed higher and the cold turned into a dry, mean warmth that cracked lips and made thirst feel like punishment.

  Jina’s mouth went cotton-dry.

  “Water,” she rasped.

  Lysander didn’t answer. He just angled their path toward a crease in the rock, a place where the ground dipped and shadows gathered.

  He moved like he knew the Wastes by the shape of the wind.

  Jina didn’t ask how.

  She wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.

  They reached a narrow cut between stone slabs, and at the bottom of it—thin, muddy, stubborn—ran a trickle of water.

  Creekbed was too generous a word.

  But it was wet.

  Lysander knelt and checked it with the careful attention of someone who’d learned that “water” could still kill you.

  He dipped a finger, sniffed it, tasted the smallest amount.

  Then he nodded.

  Jina didn’t like that he could do that with confidence.

  But she liked thirst less.

  She crouched—slowly—and cupped her hands.

  The water was cold enough to make her fingers sting.

  She drank anyway.

  The first swallow made her stomach rebel.

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  Jina froze mid-sip, eyes squeezed shut, willing her body not to throw up what it needed.

  She breathed through the nausea.

  It eased by a fraction.

  She drank again, smaller.

  Better.

  Lysander watched her like he expected her to fall face-first into the creek and stop breathing.

  Jina wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m not dying right now. You can blink.”

  Lysander’s eyes narrowed. “I blink.”

  “Sure.”

  She tried to stand.

  Her legs trembled violently.

  The world shifted sideways.

  Lysander’s hand caught her again.

  Jina hated how automatic it was now.

  “I’m fine,” she said, because it was her favorite lie.

  Lysander didn’t bother responding.

  He supported her long enough for the tilt to settle, then eased his grip.

  Jina leaned on a boulder and forced her breathing steady.

  The poison was worse after exertion. She could feel it—like her blood had turned thicker, like every heartbeat pushed sludge instead of oxygen.

  She pressed two fingers to her neck.

  Fast.

  Weak.

  Skipping.

  I need to stabilize.

  Not cure. Stabilize.

  Cure required resources she didn’t have and knowledge she didn’t possess.

  Stabilize was survival.

  Jina closed her eyes and looked inward.

  Not at the bonds.

  At the body.

  At the tightness in her chest, the cold in her hands, the dizziness, the irregular pulse.

  In her world, she’d start an IV, warm fluids, monitor heart rhythm, run labs.

  Here, she had a wolf guard, a creek, and a power she didn’t trust.

  Perfect.

  She exhaled slowly.

  Then she reached for the warmth she’d felt before—the strange current that lived under the skin of this body, coiled and waiting.

  It responded immediately.

  Like it had been waiting for a reason.

  Heat gathered behind her sternum, not painful but intense, like standing too close to a fire.

  Jina’s breath hitched.

  Okay. That’s… available.

  She pictured her blood vessels like roads choked with debris. She pictured her organs as animals in shock—heart fluttering, lungs strained, liver overwhelmed.

  She didn’t try to “remove poison.” Not yet. That felt arrogant.

  She aimed lower.

  Support circulation. Slow the damage.

  She guided the warmth downward in a controlled stream.

  Not a flood.

  A trickle.

  The sensation was odd—like pushing heat through veins with her mind. It tingled at first, then deepened into a heavy warmth that settled into her chest and abdomen.

  Her heartbeat steadied—just a fraction.

  Her fingers stopped tingling.

  Her breath came a little easier.

  Jina’s relief was immediate.

  So was the cost.

  It hit like someone flipped a switch and drained the batteries out of her bones.

  Her shoulders sagged.

  Her head dipped.

  Sudden exhaustion slammed into her like a weight.

  Her knees softened.

  Jina opened her eyes fast and grabbed the rock.

  “—!” Lysander was there instantly.

  He didn’t touch her right away. He hovered, tense, waiting.

  Jina swallowed hard. “I’m— I did something.”

  His eyes sharpened. “What.”

  “Heal,” she said, and hated the way the word sounded in her mouth—too neat for something that felt like bleeding energy out of herself. “I… pushed warmth through.”

  Lysander stared at her like she’d confessed to pulling a sword out of thin air.

  “You can use the Gift,” he said slowly.

  Jina blinked. Gift. Divine power. Whatever.

  “It’s not a gift,” she muttered. “It’s a loan with interest.”

  His brows drew together. “What.”

  “Nothing.” Jina inhaled and steadied herself. “It worked. A little. But it took… a lot.”

  Lysander’s gaze dropped to her hands.

  They were shaking again, but now it was not just cold. It was weakness deep in the muscles.

  “You look worse,” he said.

  “Because I am worse,” Jina snapped, then forced herself to breathe and soften the edge. “Temporarily. I think.”

  Lysander didn’t like uncertainty. It showed in the set of his jaw.

  “You shouldn’t,” he started.

  Jina cut him off. “We don’t have choices, remember? I either do something and pay the cost, or I do nothing and die on schedule.”

  Lysander’s eyes flashed.

  Not at her.

  At the universe.

  At the fact he couldn’t argue with math.

  He inhaled, slow, controlled, and then said quietly, “Do it again when we stop. Not while we move.”

  Jina stared at him. “That’s… reasonable.”

  He didn’t react.

  Jina realized, belatedly, that he’d just adjusted strategy based on her power like it was normal.

  Like he’d been living beside miracles long enough to treat them hwaste it.

  A pulse ran down the hot thread.

  Anger. Awake. Watching.

  The sensation made Jina’s ribs ache.

  She flinched.

  Lysander’s gaze snapped to her face. “Which one.”

  “Hot,” Jina said, because she still didn’t have names and still couldn’t risk admitting how little she knew. “The angry one.”

  Lysander’s mouth tightened. “Kaelen.”

  So the hot one was Kaelen.

  Good.

  A name. A person.

  Not just a sensation.

  It didn’t make the guilt smaller, but it made it more real in a way she couldn’t ignore.

  Jina swallowed.

  He’s awake. He knows I’m awake. He felt me pull. He felt me try to close the door.

  A shiver crawled up her spine that had nothing to do with cold.

  “Do you think they can find us through this?” she asked before she could stop herself.

  Lysander’s eyes didn’t waver. “If they are near enough.”

  “That’s not an answer,” Jina said.

  “It is,” he replied.

  Right. Brutal world. Brutal answers.

  He reached into his pack and handed her a strip of dried meat.

  Jina stared at it.

  Food.

  Her stomach threatened violence.

  “I can’t,” she said.

  “You must,” Lysander corrected.

  Jina sighed through her nose and took it anyway. She tore off a small piece and chewed slowly.

  It tasted like salt and smoke.

  Her stomach rolled, then settled.

  She forced another bite.

  Energy. Calories. Heat.

  The basics still applied, even in a world with soul bonds.

  Lysander watched until she swallowed.

  Then he stood and offered his hand again.

  Jina looked at it.

  Warm. Steady. Always there when she faltered.

  She took it.

  He hauled her up like she weighed nothing.

  They climbed out of the creek cut and back onto open rock.

  The sun was higher now, harsh and pale. Shadows shrank, and with them, the illusion of cover.

  They walked.

  Jina counted her steps again.

  One. Two. Three.

  Her heartbeat skipped on the fourth.

  She breathed through it.

  The Heal had bought her a little time. That was what it felt like.

  Not a cure.

  A delay.

  A better chance of reaching something resembling civilization before her organs quit.

  It also made her feel hollow.

  Like she’d poured part of herself into her veins and now there was less left to be herself with.

  She didn’t like that.

  She also didn’t have the luxury of liking anything.

  After an hour, her legs started to tremble again.

  After two, her vision blurred at the edges.

  Lysander didn’t slow until she stumbled.

  Jina’s foot caught on a sharp rock and she went down hard, scraping her palm.

  Pain snapped through her hand.

  Not terrible.

  Just enough to remind her she was made of breakable parts.

  Lysander caught her before she fully hit the ground, then lowered her carefully.

  His hands hovered for a heartbeat, like he was waiting for permission.

  Jina swallowed, irritated by the fact that she’d started expecting that.

  She nodded once.

  His fingers closed around her forearm.

  He examined the scrape, expression unreadable.

  “It’s nothing,” Jina said.

  He ignored her.

  He tore a strip of cloth from his bandage roll and wrapped her palm with quick efficiency.

  Jina watched, then said quietly, “You’ve done this before.”

  Lysander didn’t look up. “Yes.”

  “With… me?” she asked before she could stop herself.

  His hands stilled for half a second.

  Then resumed.

  “Yes,” he said again, voice flat.

  The simplicity of it hit her harder than any accusation could.

  Jina’s throat tightened.

  She didn’t deserve his care.

  Not if he thought she was Aurelia.

  Not if he’d held the real Aurelia’s hand as she died.

  And she couldn’t tell him the truth.

  Not here.

  Not in a wasteland where “possession” probably meant a stake and prayer.

  So she did what she’d been doing since she opened her eyes.

  She kept her face steady and her voice practical.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Lysander finished the wrap and released her hand.

  Then he looked at her face, eyes sharp.

  “You’re fading,” he said.

  “I’m not,” Jina lied.

  Lysander didn’t argue.

  He shifted his stance, turning slightly so his shoulder blocked the wind again—habit, instinct, care he pretended was strategy.

  He crouched closer. “Do the Heal again.”

  Jina’s stomach twisted. “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked at him. “If I do it now, I might not be able to stand.”

  “If you don’t,” he said, “you might not be able to stand anyway.”

  Jina hated how correct he was.

  She closed her eyes.

  She reached inward for the warmth.

  It answered.

  Hungry. Ready.

  Like it had been waiting for her to stop pretending she could survive without it.

  Jina guided it carefully this time.

  Less.

  Just enough to steady her heart, to ease the crushing pressure in her chest.

  Warmth flowed.

  Her heartbeat smoothed out another fraction.

  Her breath deepened.

  For a moment, she felt almost… functional.

  And then the cost punched her again.

  Her bones went heavy.

  Her arms felt like lead.

  Her head dipped forward, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to stay awake.

  Salt hit her tongue.

  Blood.

  Great.

  She opened her eyes and found Lysander watching her like he’d been holding his own breath.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  Jina exhaled. “I bought us… another hour.”

  His jaw tightened. “We need more than an hour.”

  “Then stop talking and keep walking,” she snapped.

  Lysander’s mouth twitched—barely. Not a smile.

  A release.

  Like anger from her was proof she still had fight.

  He shifted closer. “Can you stand.”

  Jina tested her legs.

  They shook.

  She could stand.

  She just didn’t trust her knees to keep agreeing.

  “Yes,” she said.

  Lysander stared for one more beat, then turned his back to her.

  He didn’t offer his hand.

  He lowered himself, just slightly, like a man preparing for weight.

  Jina blinked.

  “What are you doing.”

  “Get on,” he said.

  Jina’s pride flared. “No.”

  His voice didn’t change. “You will collapse again in ten steps.”

  “That’s—”

  “Get on.”

  It wasn’t Command.

  It was certainty.

  Jina ground her teeth.

  She hated being carried.

  She hated it more that he was right.

  She stepped forward and put her hands on his shoulders.

  He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even tense like her touch surprised him.

  Like he was used to her weight.

  Like he’d carried her before.

  Jina swallowed the lump in her throat and climbed onto his back.

  His arms hooked under her thighs with practiced ease and he stood.

  The world lifted.

  Jina’s cheek pressed against the rough fabric of his cloak.

  He smelled like smoke, leather, and dried blood.

  And underneath it—wolf, sharp and clean.

  Her body sagged against him in spite of herself.

  Hollow exhaustion swallowed her whole.

  She forced her eyes open, staring at the horizon over his shoulder.

  Don’t sleep. Don’t sleep. Don’t—

  A pulse ran down the cold thread.

  Tight fear.

  Then it eased, replaced by a silence so controlled it was almost worse.

  Jina swallowed hard.

  Someone out there was awake too.

  Not angry.

  Not laughing.

  Watching.

  Calculating.

  The thought made her skin prickle.

  Lysander adjusted his grip slightly so she didn’t slip.

  He didn’t ask permission for that. He couldn’t. Not with her on his back.

  Jina didn’t argue.

  Because her throat was too tight to speak.

  Because her eyelids were too heavy to fight.

  Because for a few dangerous seconds, being carried felt like safety.

  And safety was the fastest way to get careless.

  Jina forced herself to focus on one thing.

  The rhythm of Lysander’s steps.

  Steady. Controlled. Endless.

  A shadow moving through a cursed land.

  Her breath slowed.

  Her thoughts drifted.

  And the last thing she registered before her vision dimmed was Lysander’s voice—low, meant only for her.

  “Stay with me,” he said.

  Jina tried to answer.

  Her tongue didn’t cooperate.

  She heard herself make a sound anyway—half a hum, half a broken yes.

  Then the world slipped sideways.

  Darkness took her.

  And somewhere far away, through four shattered bonds, the angry thread pulsed again—harder—like it had just realized she could heal herself.

  Like it had just realized she might be harder to kill than expected.