Chapter 6 When the World Listens

Drake stood beside me in the shadow of the ravine, watching the outpost with that still, predatory patience of his. Heat shimmered faintly around him, blurring the edges of his outline. He didn’t move, but I could feel the coil of energy inside him, the way his power pressed against the bond like a storm trapped under glass.

“We’ll wait here until dark,” I said. “When the light drops, we move closer. Quietly.”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze stayed fixed on the faintly glowing sigils across the outpost’s door.

“You recognize them?” I asked.

“Not exactly,” he said after a moment. “But they smell old.”

“Magic doesn’t smell.”

He looked at me then, the faintest curl of a smile ghosting across his mouth. “Everything that burns leaves a scent, Christine. You just haven’t learned to breathe deeply enough to notice it.”

The bond pulsed, warm under my skin, like it agreed with him. I rubbed at my wrist until the mark stopped glowing quite so insistently.

“Fine,” I said. “You smell. I’ll watch.”

“Charming.”

We fell silent again, crouched among the rocks. The day bled slowly toward evening, the sky bruising purple. The air turned colder, shadows stretching long across the ground. From somewhere far away, I heard the lonely, echoing cry of a hawk—or something pretending to be one.

Drake’s head tilted slightly. “They’re moving.”

I followed his line of sight. Figures—three of them—emerged from the side entrance of the outpost, cloaked and hooded. They didn’t walk like Syndicate soldiers. Too fluid. Too quiet. One paused, turned toward the canyon, and lifted a hand. The sigils on the door flared brighter for a heartbeat, then went dark, swallowed by the evening.

When the figures vanished into the rocks, the silence they left behind felt too heavy to breathe.

“Rebel mages,” I guessed.

“Or scavengers,” Drake murmured. “Some who survive wars learn to feed on the dead.”

“Lovely,” I muttered.

I shifted to stand, but his hand caught my forearm before I’d fully straightened. His touch burned—light, but enough that it set every nerve sparking.

“Wait,” he said quietly. “You’re exhausted. Your knee’s barely holding. You walk into that place now, and they’ll sense your magic before you cross the threshold.”

“So what? We can’t just sit here.”

“Sometimes sitting still is how you live,” he said. “Ask any predator.”

I hated that he had a point. I hated even more that he sounded calm while saying it.

I sank back onto the rock. “Fine. We wait until full dark.”

“Good.”

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

“I’m not,” he said, but the faint gleam in his eyes betrayed him.

The wind shifted, bringing with it the smell of ozone and distant rain. The bond thrummed softly, a reminder that even when I sat as far from him as the tether allowed, there was no such thing as distance anymore.

“What does it feel like?” I asked suddenly.

He glanced at me. “What?”

“Being bound to someone who tried to kill you.”

He considered. “Like standing too close to a lightning storm. Beautiful. Terrifying. I can’t decide whether to raise my hands to it or run.”

My throat felt dry. “That’s poetic for someone who threatened to roast me an hour ago.”

“That was before the chain decided you were coming with me to the end.”

I wanted to scoff, but the words tangled somewhere between heartbeats. The bond fluttered, soft and alive.

“Don’t make the mistake of thinking this is fate,” I said finally. “Magic doesn’t have opinions.”

“Doesn’t it?” His smile was small, dangerous. “Then why does it keep drawing us closer?”

I didn’t answer.

He leaned back against the rock, folding his long legs beneath him. The glow from his mark cast faint shadows up his arm, turning his skin to bronze and gold. The sight did something strange to my pulse, something I didn’t want to name.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was low, almost gentle. “You’re shaking.”

I looked down at my hands. He was right. The adrenaline crash had hit hard. My fingers trembled; the air felt thinner by the second.

“Don’t,” I started, but he was already moving.

He shifted closer, careful not to yank the chain too tight. The warmth from his body reached me before his hands did. He crouched in front of me, one knee bent, the other pressed into the dirt, and met my eyes.

“Breathe,” he said softly.

“I am breathing.”

“No,” he said. “You’re surviving. There’s a difference.”

The quiet command in his voice cracked something inside me. I dragged in a slow breath, and the heat from his skin flowed through the bond like a current, steadying the tremor in my chest. For one disorienting moment, our heartbeats synced.

It wasn’t peace. It wasn’t comfort. It was something older, hungrier.

When the trembling finally eased, I pulled back. “Don’t do that again.”

“Do what?”

“Whatever that was.”

He tilted his head, studying me with that faint, unreadable smile. “If you say so, Knight.”

He turned away, settling beside me instead of across. The space between us wasn’t much—just enough for the chain to hang loose.

The stars started to appear, one by one, tiny glints of silver through the smoke-hazed sky.

I stared at the outpost, the dark doorway that waited below. “When this is over,” I said quietly, “we go our separate ways.”

Drake’s laugh was low, without humor. “If the bond lets us.”

“It will.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll find a way to break it,” I said. “Even if it kills me.”

Drake stared at me for a long time, expression unreadable. Then he said, very softly, “It might.”

The silence that followed wasn’t hostile, exactly—it was something heavier, something alive.

Far below, the outpost lights flickered once, like a dying heartbeat.

Drake’s voice broke the quiet. “When we move, stay close to me.”

“I’m the one leading this operation.”

“Then lead,” he said, his smile sharp as a spark. “Just don’t expect me to let you die first.”

I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth betrayed me with a twitch.

“Arrogant lizard.”

“Stubborn witch.”

The chain pulsed, faint and warm, between us.

The stars above flared brighter, and in the distance, thunder rumbled—a low promise rolling through the mountains.

We turned toward the sound.

Silence closed in around us.

Whatever came next was already listening.

Bound by fire. Chosen by fate. And for the first time, I wasn’t sure which of those was more dangerous.