Blood thrums in my ears. My voice drops to a whisper. “I had no choice.”
For a breathless second, we hover on the brink of something. A swirl of tension heavier than any fight. Her hand still trembles around the parchment. My arm aches, but the pain is drowned out by the magnetic pull drawing me closer. I sense her heartbeat in the hush. My muzzle is inches from her face, the soft lamplight casting shadows across her features. She breathes in, I breathe out.
Our gazes lock. I taste the moment—like a precipice between us. Another heartbeat, and I might close the distance. My chest constricts, the raw vulnerability of it startling me more than any blade. I brace my palm against the crate to steady myself, feeling the warmth of her presence. She lifts her chin, a question shining in those hazel eyes. My breath stutters, and I lean forward a fraction, as though compelled by a force deeper than reason.
Then footsteps echo from the far entrance. One of my men calls out, “Champion! Are you safe?” The tension shatters. We jerk away from each other, reality slamming back in. Bloodied conspirators moan on the floor, smoke curls near the extinguished torch, and we still need to escape with the evidence. That near-kiss collapses into silence, my heart hammering.
Mira clears her throat, cheeks flushed. “We should go before reinforcements arrive.”
I nod, forcing my voice to steady. “Agreed.”
She folds the parchment safely inside her tunic. I help gather any smaller documents scattered in the trunk, but we keep them to a minimum for speed. The men on the floor are too dazed to stop us; a few cough, one tries to stand but collapses. Weleave them behind, stumbling back toward the loose plank we used for entry. My two guards appear from the shadows, each brandishing short clubs. Their eyes widen at the sight of the battered warehouse.
“You found trouble, champion?” one guard says, half in awe.
“You have no idea,” I mutter, glancing at Mira, who avoids my gaze. Her face remains flushed from the adrenaline and something more.
My men help me pry open the plank, stepping aside so we can slip out into the moonlit docks. Sirens wail somewhere in the distance—someone must have heard the commotion. We creep along the wharf, tension coiled in every muscle. I keep Mira close, ignoring the stirring ache in my side. She meets my glance once, fleetingly, but neither of us speaks about what nearly happened in that warehouse.
We hurry down the deserted pier, the horizon tinted with starlight. The city’s architecture rises behind us, silent and foreboding. Our footsteps echo, hearts still pounding. Once we’re at a safe distance, crouched behind a stack of barrels, I let out a breath. My men quickly tie cloth around the scuff on my bracer to hide its damage.
Mira checks the parchment with trembling hands. “We have it, Remanos—Vaelen’s name, orc mercenaries, payments, dates. This is big.”
I nod, forcing my gaze away from the lines of her face. “Yes. Enough to implicate him directly. The Senate can’t ignore that. Not if we present it carefully.”
She exhales, relief tempered by exhaustion. “He’ll do everything in his power to discredit us if we confront him head-on. We must be strategic.”
I clutch my injured side, wincing. “Agreed. We can’t storm into the Senate and wave these documents around. We need alliances or a secure forum to reveal the evidence. PossiblyOrtem, if we can trust him. Or rally enough lesser senators to force an investigation.”
Mira nods, tucking the parchment away. “We can finalize details once we’re back. Let’s get out of here before more of Vaelen’s henchmen show up.”
We lead the group through narrow alleys, slipping past flickering lanterns. My side pulses in fresh pain, though it’s not catastrophic. Each time I slow, Mira hovers near me, silent concern etched in her brow. That near-kiss lingers in my mind, refusing to fade. Heat flushes my body whenever I recall how close I was to bridging that gap. The unspoken attraction between us only complicates this fragile alliance.
At last, we approach the outskirts of the port. The streets open to broader cobblestone paths lit by the city’s night torches. I can’t fully relax yet—who knows if more conspirators prowl the roads. We keep our pace brisk, Mira and I taking point, the guards trailing behind. The familiar architecture of Milthar’s arches and columns loom overhead, giving me a sense of returning to safer ground.
A hush falls over our small group. Mira’s breathing remains unsteady, her steps sure. I want to say something, apologize for losing control in that moment, or maybe admit I regret not letting it happen. The words tangle in my throat. She glances at me once, expression caught between bewilderment and understanding. Neither of us breaks the silence.
Eventually, we reach my estate gates. The guards recognize me at once, ushering us in. The courtyard is quiet, lit by soft lanterns that flicker in the night breeze. One of my staff hurries forward, worry creasing her face, but I wave her off, telling her we’re fine.
We gather in a secluded corridor near the small library, away from curious eyes. My men stand guard outside. I slump againstthe wall, fatigue rolling over me now that adrenaline ebbs. Mira paces a few steps, the rolled parchment clutched like a lifeline.
She finally halts, turning to face me. “We did it. That ledger is the key.”
I nod, running a hand over my battered bracer. “Yes. We have proof that Vaelen’s dealing with orcs. If we can expose him before he uses that false evidence to accuse me, we might protect Milthar from a deeper infiltration.”
Her eyes darken. “He’ll come after us once he realizes the ledger is missing. We have to move quickly.”
I rub the tension in my temple. “We’ll meet with Ortem in secret, gauge whether he’ll help. If Ortem stands with us, other senators might follow.”
She steps closer, voice dropping. “And if Ortem is too loyal to the Senate as a whole?”
I swallow, crossing my arms over my chest to hide my uncertainty. “Then we find another path. We can’t let Vaelen solidify his hold.”
Our gazes lock, weighty with the knowledge that we might be forging a perilous path. The flicker of torches in the corridor illuminates the swirl of emotions in her eyes—relief, triumph, and that same unspoken current that nearly overwhelmed us in the warehouse. My pulse quickens again. We’re no longer in mortal danger, but the tension remains potent.
She steps even nearer, her voice soft. “Remanos… thank you. You saved me more than once tonight. I never expected a champion to value my safety so much.”
A wry smile tugs at my mouth, though a knot winds tight in my chest at the memory of her pinned under a blade. “You’re more than a ‘trophy,’ Mira. You’ve proven that tenfold. I protect you because I want to.” My words come out quietly, carrying a weight of honesty.
