CLEA AWOKE WITH a start and struggled from her bed as Althala burst in, a torch in her hand. Breathing heavily, she rushed around the tent. "We have to get out!"

Althala was wild with fear, and Clea noticed the blood on her hands as screaming erupted outside. She rushed from the tent. Grim reminders of her mother's death awaited her outside.

Kalex were running and screaming. They carried burning torches that illuminated the blood-splattered snow and disfigured bodies that scattered the campground. A hoard of reaping shades tore through the campsite. They leapt from tent to tent, rummaging and killing.

These camps were supposed to be safe.

Clea raced toward the closest foe, bare feet reddened by the snow.

The first reaper she encountered had its head shoved into a nearby tent, fumbling as shrieks sounded from inside.

Her body was hot with the potent mix of adrenaline and the ansra it stirred. Clea slammed her hands into the first reaper and split its essence into a scattered rain of ashes.

Another charged for her. Clea ducked under its claws and pulled herself into its chest with another blessing. It died with a shriek. She'd managed to kill eighteen of them when she'd first escaped from Virday. Her mother had easily felled over a hundred.

The greatest documented hordes had as many as three hundred shades. That was why Veilin so often traveled in teams.

She rolled up her sleeves as three more charged for her.

She would go much higher than eighteen tonight.

The first dove and she struck, diving under the cloud of ash to meet the second with equal ferocity. The blasts of light would draw the rest in, and in the wake of the screams of the Kalex, ones she'd healed the day before, her fear was cloaked by rage.

She was determined to hit one hundred.

Clea whipped around for the final kill, only to find it already gone. Ryson was standing in its place, scythe drawn.

"Let's go," he demanded.

More screaming erupted, and Clea noticed a shade was nearing Althala's tent. The light from her torch still bustled frantically inside. Clea charged past Ryson as she shouted Althala's name. The reaper whipped its head toward Clea. It raised its hand to strike her, and she slipped down into the snow, blessing its ankle as she threw herself under its legs.

It exploded over her, and Clea scrambled up just as Althala left the tent.

Two screams, one after the other, sounded in the distance. Clea turned her head, facing a place on the far side of the camp. The screams were interrupted by a chilling silence, but soon more erupted. Clea narrowed her eyes in the darkness, unable to make out an enemy where the screams had come from. She glanced at Ryson, but he was focused in the same direction, seeing perhaps what she could not.

"Clea!" Althala approached, drawing Clea's attention. "Here!" She thrust Clea's bag into her hands, Althala's research folder poking from it along with Clea's boots. "You must go!"

A roar echoed from the distance. It was unlike any sound Clea had ever heard. The earth trembled with the vibration of it. "Please, go. Don't waste what strength you have left on us! The Kalex here can fight! You must continue your journey!"

Ryson's bandaged hand took hold of her arm. He turned her toward the forest, leading her with a vice grip.

"We can't!" She wrestled against his hand, digging her feet into the snow.

"We can't fight here, Princess." He whipped toward her. "Hurry up!"

"Yes, we can! We have to! They need my help!" she shouted back.

"We'll die! Don't be a fool!"

She snatched her arm from his grasp, and put distance between them. "We'll die? What about them?"

"They're dead already, and we can't afford to join them. We won't survive what's coming. Can't you feel it?" he snapped.

Ryson's cold words, spoken even before Althala, only fueled the fires of Clea's determination.

A second deep roar echoed from the end of the encampment. The ground shook beneath her feet. More screams guided her eyes to the far end of the camp.

"Oh," Althala gasped in horror.

Wings like a black canvas unfurled across the distant sky, swallowing the stars. A single red eye burned through the darkness.

"Go," Althala said, but Clea continued to stare at the beast.

"Go!" Althala shouted and began to push her.

Ryson took the opportunity to reach for her, but as he did, an arrow came spiraling from the shadows and struck him in the shoulder.

He lost his grip on his weapon and stumbled as his hand came to his shoulder.

"Ryson!" Clea shouted. She rushed to support him as he tore the arrow from his shoulder, dropping it as he fell to one knee. Her eyes followed the path of the arrow. In the shadows stood a Kalex archer. Althala rushed toward the Kalex, shouting for him to hold off his attack.

His grip tightened on his wound as blood seeped through his fingers. Clea attempted to lift him to his feet as another roar echoed. "We need to escape now," he demanded.

She lifted her hands to her neck and began fumbling with the clasp of the medallion.

"What are you doing?" Ryson asked, struggling back to his feet.

"I'll give you the medallion. You've got to take it away from here so I can fight at my best. I will meet you when the battle is done. It possesses slowly. We will have plenty of time, and you're capable of transporting it. You already have," she said.

"I'm not taking that thing. Clea, look at me!" he said with a vigor that commanded her attention. "I want you to understand something, and understand it well. I won't touch that thing, because you have to take it. I'm not giving you a choice. I'm not letting you stay. You can blame me for their deaths. I don't care."

She stopped fumbling with the medallion. The silver in his irises burned with honesty that filled her with dread.

"You have to hurry!" Althala shouted, stumbling over snow toward them as another roar echoed.

Clea looked over at Althala and then back at Ryson pleadingly.

Ryson cursed. "By cien, you can drop it off in the woods and I can guard it, but I'm not going to touch it, all right? Just hurry."

Clea didn't hesitate, but took one longing glance at Althala and followed Ryson into the woodland. She ran with all of the energy she could muster, tugging at the medallion until she slipped it off her neck.

"It should only be for a few minutes!" She huffed after him once they were a decent distance from the village. "I just have to help them!" she said between breaths, shouting over the sound of their footfalls. "We can evacuate the women and children, and the warriors can distract the beast to create an opening for me to kill it!" They broke past the tree line. "Without the medallion, I'm sure I can beat it! This should be far enough," she shouted, and they slowed to a stop.

She searched for a place to hide the medallion.

"Clea," Ryson said as she began to lift herself into a nearby tree. "We have to keep moving."

"Yes, I know, I'm moving as fast as I can!" she shouted back, foot slipping against the bark.

"You aren't going back," he replied coolly.

She lowered herself from the tree, looking at him with the medallion in hand. "Yes, I am."

"It's not a battle we can win. You aren't thinking clearly."

"How can you say that?" she said in disbelief before shaking her head. "I'm going."

He placed himself between her and the route to the Kalex village, weapon still drawn. His wounded shoulder bled, but he showed no weakness. "I can't let you do that."

"You can't do this." She moved to pass him, but he blocked her way. She tried to weave past his other side, but he grabbed her arm and jerked her to a halt.

"I said don't touch me!" She yanked away from him. Her hand tensed as a blessing formed in her palm. "Don't make me do this, Ryson."

"I'm protecting you. You're not thinking," he hissed.

"I don't want to be protected right now! The camp was supposed to be safe! They're usually safe!" She set her hands against the ground, and a blessing exploded around Ryson like a cage. She raced past him, but his hand locked around the back of her shirt and yanked her backward again. She fell hard against a tree, breath forced from her lungs. Ryson locked the scythe across her chest, the blade splitting the bark beside her and holding her in place. She flinched against the cold steel flattened across her chest.

"So, that's it then?" Ryson hissed, hovering over her.

She gritted her teeth as he pressed the weapon harder against her shoulder.

"One tragedy and you lose your head? This is the forest, Clea. This is it!" he shouted. "You have a responsibility. That means sacrifice! Maybe I don't know honor, or integrity, or whatever else you Veilin preach, but I know sacrifice!"

She kept her teeth clenched, intent on resisting him, but his words weighed heavier on her with each passing second.

"They won't escape." She pushed out the words on a strained whisper. "The camp was supposed to be safe. Why not tonight, Ryson? Why wasn't it safe tonight?"

Beneath her anger now whispered the fear, the fear of her own guilt.

"Don't make up reasons if you don't have to," Ryson replied. "I picked the night. I left you there. I'm forcing you to leave."

"They won't escape."

"And that's why we can," he replied. "Why we must."

A monstrous dread inside her ravaged the hope she'd had for justice.

"The beast in that village was stronger than me, stronger than you, and stronger than any warrior living there. If anything, we have to use the village as a distraction so that we can escape. That's the only purpose it could serve at this point. You can go back and all of us can die in vain, the medallion lost, or you can move on," he explained.

She shook her head, searching his face in the silence. "Thinking of leaving them feels like leaving a part of myself behind," she whispered. "I left my mother behind. It's tearing my heart out. I can't do it."

She could still hear the screaming in the distance, swallowing against the knot in her throat. She looked into his eyes, still looking for answers, or some alternative to the dreadful decision in front of her.

"Then let me make the choice for you," Ryson whispered back, and softer, he added, "Hate me for it."

* * *

Ryson collapsed against a tree after several hours of rushed traveling. He tilted his head back. Clea stayed standing. There were no other sounds but his breathing, and the implications of the silence were eerie.

Clea was right in her statement about the village. It was supposed to be safe. Ryson knew that at any moment a stronger beast could come, overrule his influence, and risk turning the whole forest against them. It almost happened tonight, but why? Why the one night they'd been separated?

You know the answer, he thought, imagining his cien would say the same thing.

Saying that the Deadlock Medallion wasn't just acting on cien-based instincts was a bold statement to make, with much bolder implications. He didn't have enough evidence yet of its intelligence, and jumping to conclusions had its own dangers.

He returned his attention back to Clea.

She stood in front of him for a while, kneeling with a vacant expression on her face. She extended her hands toward his, which gripped his bleeding shoulder like a guard. She pried one finger off the injury after another. He pushed her hand away at first, until he noticed she was attempting to hold back tears. Her face was blank, but she swallowed hard, as if she were struggling to keep her composure.

His wound was a distraction for her.

Watching her face, he let her pull his hand away from his shoulder.

Focused and silent, she inspected the injury and pried away the bandages. Ryson watched her as she worked, trying to find some sort of emotion in her eyes, trying to read her face. He didn't want her to tend to his injury, but he felt compelled to stay still. The smallest word seemed capable of shattering her like glass; she was suddenly as fragile as the silence around them.

He titled his head back against the tree, removing his focus from the uncomfortable experience of being treated as she peeled back the bloodied layers of cloth. The gentle nature of her hands enthralled him, pulling his mind back to images of her helping the Kalex the day before. He tried with difficulty to escape into his thoughts. He distracted himself with the details of their next route, but just as he would drift into some organized avenue of thought, the brush of her fingers would jerk him back into the present.

He was accustomed to pain. It was as much a part of him as his own flesh, but the tenderness and affection of her fingers was alien. His eyes widened when he felt a deep heat sink into his shoulder. He snatched her hands, but it was too late. A pleasurable pulse rushed through his entire body and he heaved forward.

"Don't," he gasped. His eyes slammed shut as a surge of lightheadedness severed his focus.

He was such a fool! She wouldn't just bandage his wounds. She would heal him! She was a Veilin! A Veilin! he repeated as the feeling began to fade. Her healing would temporarily expel cien from his body.

He felt the cien sink back into his muscles, pulling him down like a weight. He knew they didn't sell Veilin in the Dark Market for sport, but now he understood the trade. The cien-expelling property of their touch was addictive. For him, a being without a soul to absorb more cien, the expulsion could be deadly.

He eased his grip on her hands, not realizing how tightly he'd been holding them.

"I'll be fine," he whispered hoarsely, leaning back. His cien had returned, but he hadn't forgotten the feeling of being free from it for that single second.

Clea was biting her lip, and he knew that she thought she'd hurt him. Her mouth pursed, and her eyes fought to blink away tears. As he held her hands, she leaned over. Her chest heaved with a sob as she choked, "I'm sorry." She started to cry.

She held his hand captive between hers, and for a while Ryson did nothing but watch her. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen someone cry so much.

He considered prying her hands off his, but something inside him seemed to advise against it. He scanned the clearing for some kind of solution, and a fruitless search guided his eyes back to Clea. Still crying.

He scrambled through his memories for a solution, Clea's crying driving him closer to panic the longer it persisted. For the first time in a long time, he wasn't quite sure what to do.

He tried to recall a time he'd seen someone soothe something.

He lifted his free hand but withdrew it before he touched her head. No. Not right.

He reached a hand to her shoulder, but stopped again, unsure of where to put it.

He remembered then how Clea had acted during the day. In healing her patients, she'd pulled them close, holding them to her body, giving more than just the light of her hands.

Slipping his good arm beneath Clea's legs, he hoisted her up, gathering her in his arms as she rested her head against his chest.

His wounded arm throbbed, but he ignored the pain, waiting in tense anticipation for her crying to cease. It didn't. He suppressed a frustrated groan as he propped his head back against the tree. Now she was on top of him, and he doubted he could roll her off without upsetting her more.

He went through a series of phases from wondering how someone could cry so much, to why it was taking her so long to accept what had happened. His thoughts brought him back to dusty old memories he hadn't visited in what felt like years. They were fleeting inklings of people and places he could no longer name, with details he couldn't recall. They passed through his mind like a breeze, carrying nothing but melancholic nostalgia. It was a feeling he felt only long enough to remind him that years ago, in some other place, he'd been different.

He'd been human.

After a while, Clea's crying did stop, but it no longer seemed to matter.

He held her huddled form in his arms, her warmth now a burning reminder of a mortal past he couldn't recall.

He closed his eyes like the act might shut her presence out.

Look at her, he thought with a twinge of jealousy. She's completely devastated, and you're fine. You don't feel anything.

There was no answer to his thoughts, only a silence he hated, and for once he wished his dark likeness were there to tempt him back into contentment again.