Each breath I heave sucks the black material into my mouth, suffocating me. I don't know how far we've walked, but a sharp knife presses to the centre of my back, and a thick rope restrains my hands.

My entire body quivers but I remain wordless as my captor guides me. Strategies of escape run through my mind at a million miles a second, but each step we go further off path, the more the options dwindle. I have no idea how many people are around me. The dagger I'd been holding is somewhere back where they ambushed me. All I have is my hearing, but aside from the occasional snapping of twigs, my captors are silent.

A gentle breeze rustles the bushes. I briefly wonder if I should scream for help; for Casimir, for Killian, for anyone. But the sharp point against my skin warns me against it. I was so stupid to come out here, even more stupid for leaving Killian and wandering off on my own.

Cold hands wrap around my wrist, jerking me in a different direction. A low branch brushes the top of my head as the terrain starts to decline. I focus on counting my steps, memorising each direction we turn, how far we've come. It's the only thing keeping me from falling apart all together.

Had Killian known what would happen? The possibility frightens me, but I shake it off. There's no way this is Killian's doing. I don't trust him, but if he'd wanted to kidnap me, he's had more than enough opportunity.

"Duck your head." One of them demands, voice low and gravelly.

I obey as the earth transitions beneath my feet from dirt to something harder, like stone. The next step I take echoes. I freeze.

"Where have you taken me?" I ask.

"Move."

My blood runs cold. The echoing of my feet, the absence of the wind—he's taken me to some sort of tunnel. I thought I knew Veymaw like the back of my hand, but tunnels? I've never come across any. If I go in there, there's no way I can find my way out alone.

"I-I won't go in there."

"Don't make this difficult, Freya." I shudder as his voice moves closer, right by my ear. "That's right, I know who you are. And you can either move or I can force you." The dagger pricks my back. "And it won't be pretty."

I stumble forward, my heart thumping.

One. Two. Three. Four.

An eerie sound courses through the tunnel, and though I can't see, I can feel the tight space cramping around us. If I stumble too far to the sides, my arm brushes against a cold wall. The air feels tighter, making it harder to breathe.

Forty-five. Forty-six. Forty-seven.

We turn a sharp corner.

Sweat beads at the back of my neck. The skirt of my dress feels heavy, sticks and dirt gathered in the lace trim at the bottom. I try to slow my breathing, tilting my head down to prevent the bag from sucking into my mouth.

Eighty-seven. Eighty-eight. Eighty-nine.

The roof gets lower, brushing the top of my head. I slightly bend my knees as panic courses through my veins. It feels like the walls are caving in. For the first time since they ambushed me, I'm glad I can't see.

One hundred and three. One hundred and four. On hundred and—

The man comes to an abrupt stop, causing me to bump into his back. He steps away, grabbing my wrists and pulling me down so that I'm kneeling.

"Don't even think about trying something," another behind me murmurs, pulling the dagger away from my back and loosening the ropes around my hands so they can move.

The other man guides my hands to the ground. I fumble around as he wraps my fingers around some sort of metal structure. Hands go to my hips. I flinch, but don't resist as they guide my body to rotate.

"Now, climb," he murmurs.

I'm holding the rungs of a ladder. I shift my left leg slightly, and the ground gives way, my foot dangling. I snatch it back, releasing the rungs and scrambling backwards along the ground till my back hits one of the walls. One of the men pull me up, placing me back by the rungs.

"Climb."

"Y-you can't expect me to do that." My voice wavers. "I can't see!"

"Would you rather be pushed?"

I take a deep breath, my hands quivering as I grip the rungs and carefully drag my body over the hole, my feet finding the rungs of the ladder below. They're stable but coated in something slippery. I have no idea how high we are or how fatal a fall would be, but I don't intend on finding out.

It takes me 30 seconds to reach the ground. One more second for my captor to grab my wrists again, leading me forward, without the dagger this time. I shudder, despite the warm air. The tunnel doesn't feel as claustrophobic, but the air feels thicker somehow. We walk for a few more minutes, taking several turns before we come to a stop. The sound of stone grinding against stone screeches through the air. I'm shoved forward again, hands still around my wrists.

It doesn't matter that I can't see; I can feel eyes on me, new eyes.

"It's her," the man holding me says.

Someone inhales loudly. "Take her mask off."

Fear travels down my spine as he reaches over my head and tugs the sack away. I squint my eyes as they adjust to the light of the room. It's tiny, with no windows and only the entrance we came through. My eyes slowly adjust to the dim light of the lantern strung on the ceiling. We look to be in some sort of boiler room—there's a metal, round structure in the corner, and rusted pipes exposed on the ceiling.

There are three others in the room with me, the two men who took me, and a third. He rests against the wall, his face covered with the same black gauze as those who took me.

"W-who are you people?" I say loudly. "What do you want from me?"

"Shut her up," he hisses to the men behind me.

"How?"

"I don't know—gag her or something."

I tense, pulling against the ropes around my wrists.

"We can't do that. If he finds out—"

"Shut up, Jax."

The man behind me releases my wrists out of anger, moving to shove the other man back. "Idiot. You're not supposed to say my—"

I swing my bound wrists around in a circular motion, fists colliding with the man in front of me. He stumbles forwards onto the other. Ducking, I avoid a swipe from the one behind me. I swing around, bringing my knee to his stomach and hitting with as much force as I can muster.

I rush through the entrance into the narrow passageway, and after a split-second decision, turn left. A dingy tunnel lies before me, and as I sprint, my feet hammer into the compacted dirt, the passage grows narrower. As it starts to slant downwards, horror washes over me—I've gone deeper underground.

Shouts come from behind me. Fear propels me forward, deeper into the dark abyss that lies ahead. The passage curves and twists, and though the shouts subside, I can hear the footprints, thundering after me.

Rounding the corner, I smack hard into someone, tripping backwards and falling on my back with a thud.

"Freya?"

My eyes dart up, vision blurry.

"Killian!" I'm so relieved my eyes blur with tears. I scramble to my feet, hands shaking uncontrollably as I grip the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer. "You found me," I say. "I-I thought they would kill me—"

His hands go to mine, working at the thick knots of rope. "How did you get down here?"

"W-we have to get out of here, these men caught me in the forest and—and—wait." I swallow, trying to catch my breath as I look up at him. He meets my eye, hands pausing to undo the ropes. "How did you get here?"

Before he can say anything, the men chasing me skid around the corner, coming to a halt when they see us. I jump forwards, digging my nails into Killian's arms.

"Grab her, Killian!" one man shouts.

My stomach lurches and I shove him away from me, stumbling backwards. "No. No."

"Wait." Killian raises his hands, taking small steps towards me. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Grab her, damnit!"

"Shut up, Jax," Killian says, eyes still on me. His gaze lowers to my bound hands, to the torn shreds of my skirt, back up to my face, his jaw tensing.

My breath is so ragged my words come out torn. "Y-you're with them."

Every move of his is calculated, the slight tilt of his head, the way his left hand reaches slowly behind his back. I have less than a second before he tries to grab me. "I can—"

I'm sprinting before he can finish the rest of his sentence. I don't know where I'm going, I don't know how to escape, I don't think I can escape. And deep down I know Killian is faster, stronger, smarter—I can't escape him for long.

The passage comes to stop, a dirtied sheet hanging in the way. Behind it, there's a low murmur—the sounds of life, of people. My heart hammers as I halt. Walk forward into who knows what or turn back around and walk straight into Killian's grasp.

"Stop!"

Killian's call propels me forward. I shove the sheet aside, tripping on a jutted platform on the other side. The dirt transitions to stone, and with my hands still bound, I'm unable to break my fall, crumbling to the ground and smacking my head against the cool stone, legs tangling in the bottom of my mangled skirt. Pain blossoms in my cheek as it grazes the stone, but I don't have the time to relish in pain. I roll over, but it's too late, Killian is standing over me, chest rising and falling rapidly.

He crouches, reaching out to me. "You hit your head."

"Don't touch me," I hiss, kicking a leg out. He dodges it easily.

I swing my head around, heart dropping to the pit of my stomach as I take in the room. The narrow passage has widened into a large cavern, the ceiling rounded, lined by oil lanterns that bathe it in a dull glow. It's so huge, larger than the entire school building in Veymaw, but its size isn't what makes my stomach lurch. There are at least 50 people sitting around round tables. And they're all staring at me.

I shove to my feet so abruptly the world spins, causing me to stumble backwards. Killian catches me, his hands wrapping around my forearms, chest against my back. I try to break his grip, but he only tightens it.

"Stop," he murmurs, his mouth by my ear, warm breath on my neck. "You're going to hurt yourself."

"You're hurting me."

He lets me go and I step away, putting a hand to my head as I stare at the crowd, my heart hammering against my chest.

"Where am I?" I turn to look over my shoulder, at Killian. His hood has fallen off, his hair just as dishevelled as his clothes. "Who are you?"

"The question is who are you."

I spin around in the direction of the voice. A woman has stepped forward from the crowd, her eyes on me. She has blonde hair braided over her shoulder, the roots greying. A scar runs down the left side of her face, pinching the skin. She wears well-fitted tunic and black trousers, men's clothing, and a belt at her waist is home to three sheathed daggers.

The people around her create a path as she steps forward, stopping only inches away from me. I take a weary step backwards, my arm bumping Killian's.

"Let me go," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Let you go?" She tilts her head to the side. "And here I thought we were doing you a favour."

"You kidnapped me."

"You've been searching for us for quite some time, Freya. I only thought I'd speed up the process."

My heart skips a beat. I swing my head around, staring at the masked men, the crowd all dressed in black, in men's clothing, all armed with various weapons just as the woman is. I stare at Killian. He watches me like he's not sure if I'm about to cry or attack him.

"Deserters," I whisper. "You're deserters."

The woman's mouth twitches upwards. The masks, the black clothing, it all makes sense. Maybe if I hadn't been so terrified, I'd have considered it earlier. I can't take my eyes off Killian. His eyes follow my every move, expression relaxed but posture ready for anything. He's a deserter.

"Why kidnap me?" I demand. "Why have these guards gag me and threaten my life?"

"I don't trust you."

"But you knew I was looking for you."

"If we trusted all who search for us, do you think any of us would be alive now?" she asks, tilting his head sideways. I think of the council, of the shifters, and swallow my response.

"Then why am I here?" I demand, keeping my chin high. She doesn't say anything for a few moments, watching me closely. "Why force me here against my will when you knew I would've come willingly?"

"This wasn't the plan," Killian says tightly from behind.

"Yeah, well, your plan failed," Jax, who has now taken his mask off, says.

Killian's jaw twitches. "If you'd just given it more time—"

"Plan?" I say, staring at the old woman.

"Killian was tasked with bringing you to us in a more... civilised manner," she says. "But I tired of waiting and took matters into my own hands."

"Why? Why do you care about me? Why now?"

She lets out a slow breath, taking another step forward. Despite her greying hair, there's nothing frail about her. Each movement is sleek and graceful—it reminds me of the way Killian moves, the way only somebody well trained could move.

"Yes, why only now?" she muses. "I believe that is a question for somebody else."

"What?"

"Son," she says, stepping aside. "Come here."

A figure emerges behind her in the shadows cast by the oil lantern. I hadn't noticed him before, but now that she's moved, he's straight in my line of sight. And despite the black cape, the way he stares at the ground, and the shadows around him, I choke on my next breath.

He looks up, eyes meeting mine.

"Casimir?"

-

1. Did you expect Casimir to be a deserter?

2. Did you expect Killian was a deserter?

3. What do you think might happen next?