“Stay awake.”
Lysander’s voice didn’t rise.
That made it worse.
Jina tried to answer and got a cough instead. The kind that scraped the inside of her throat raw. The kind that tasted like pennies.
“I’m awake,” she managed.
“You’re swaying.”
“Yeah,” she said, because lying felt pointless when her knees were already negotiating with gravity. “My legs are… not cooperative.”
Lysander didn’t comment. He just shifted his grip, moving her weight onto him like he’d done it a thousand times.
Which, for all she knew, he had.
They weren’t walking so much as… surviving forward.
The Shattered Wastes stretched out in every direction, a land that looked like it had been burned and then forgotten. Rock. Ash. Dead scrub. Wind that carried grit and made her eyes water.
Jina’s breath came shallow. Every inhale felt like dragging air through wet cloth.
Airway is clear. Breathing is bad. Circulation is worse.
She tried to catalog symptoms the way she always did—like if she could name the problem, she could own it.
Cold skin. Weak pulse. Shaking. Metallic taste. Chest pain. Nausea.
And something she couldn’t name.
The threads.
She saw them even when she didn’t want to. Four lines stretching out from her ribs into the distance, vibrating like live wires.
Whenever they pulsed, her chest tightened.
Whenever they yanked, she saw white.
Lysander led them to a break in the rocks—two slabs leaning together like a crude tent.
“Here,” he said.
He lowered her carefully, as if she might shatter if he moved too fast.
Jina slid down until her back hit stone. The cold punched through her spine.
She bit back a sound.
Lysander crouched in front of her, blocking the worst of the wind. His eyes flicked over her face, her hands, her lips.
Like he was reading a chart only he understood.
“Talk,” he said. “Tell me what you feel.”
Jina blinked at him.
“What?”
“It keeps you awake,” he said flatly. “And it tells me when you’re slipping.”
That wasn’t how most people talked to patients.
That was how someone talked to a person they’d lost before.
Jina swallowed. Her throat hurt.
“My chest feels tight,” she said. “Like… pressure. And my hands are numb.”
Lysander’s gaze dropped to her fingers. They were pale. Stiff.
He reached out, then paused.
Permission again.
Jina gave a small nod.
He took her hands between his, warming them with his palms. His grip was firm enough to anchor, gentle enough not to bruise.
“You’re cold,” he said.
“You’ve mentioned.” Her attempt at humor came out thin.
His mouth didn’t twitch. But something in his eyes eased, just a fraction—as if the sarcasm was proof she still existed.
“Drink,” he said.
Jina grimaced. “If I drink too fast I’m going to throw up.”
“Then drink slow.”
He handed her the flask. Jina took a small sip and forced it down. Her stomach rolled, but it stayed.
For now.
“Food?” she asked, because her brain wanted options.
Lysander shook his head once. “Not here.”
Not here.
Not ever?
She didn’t ask. She didn’t have the breath.
Instead, she pressed her fingers to the inside of her wrist and counted.
Fast.
Weak.
Skipping every few beats like it was forgetting its job.
Arrhythmia. Hypoperfusion. Hypothermia. Toxin.
She closed her eyes and tried to focus inward. Not on the threads. On the body.
On what the poison was doing.
Her stomach twisted and she gagged once, dry.
Lysander’s hand appeared under her chin, tilting her face slightly so she didn’t aspirate if she vomited. Efficient. Practiced.
Her cheeks heated with humiliation.
Then a thread yanked.
Pain speared through her sternum.
Jina gasped and doubled forward, clutching her chest.
“—!” Lysander caught her, one arm around her shoulders. “What happened?”
Jina shook her head hard, teeth clenched. “Not— not me. It’s—”
The words stuck, because how did you explain soul marriage ropes to a man with wolf eyes in a cursed wasteland?
She forced herself to breathe.
“It’s those connections,” she said.
Lysander went very still.
He didn’t ask what she meant.
That meant he already knew.
“The bonds,” he said.
Jina’s throat tightened. “Yeah. The bonds.”
A new pulse ran down one thread—hot and furious—and it made her ribs ache.
She flinched.
Lysander’s gaze tracked the flinch like a hawk. “Which one.”
Not a question.
A command disguised as one.
Jina stared at the air, at the four lines.
One burned hot.
One shimmered sharp.
One was cold and tight.
One was fire on the verge of snapping.
“I don’t know their names,” she said, and immediately regretted it.
Lysander’s eyes narrowed, just a fraction.
Not suspicion.
Pain.
Because of course she was supposed to know their names. She was supposed to know everything about the chains she’d made.
Jina’s tongue felt thick.
Say something. Say anything that doesn’t get you killed.
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
“I… can tell them apart,” she said carefully. “One is angry. One is—” she swallowed as laughter that tasted like knives flickered through her gums “—it’s like someone smiling with teeth. One is… cold. And one is—”
Fire.
It yanked again, harder.
Jina cried out and her vision blurred.
Lysander’s arms tightened around her, keeping her upright.
His voice turned low. Dangerous. “They’re suffering.”
“Yes,” Jina rasped. “I can feel it.”
Lysander’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle jumped.
He didn’t blame her out loud.
That was worse than blame.
Because if he blamed her, she could argue.
If he didn’t, then the guilt had nowhere to go.
Jina swallowed blood and fear and forced herself back to the practical.
“Okay,” she said, voice shaking. “Okay. Poison first. If I die, I can’t—” she stopped before she said fix anything. Before she made promises she couldn’t keep.
Lysander watched her, eyes sharp.
“You will not die,” he said.
Jina almost laughed again. Almost. “That’s not how toxins work.”
He didn’t flinch at the word.
That was another data point: he didn’t know what it meant, but he knew the meaning.
“You said it’s poison,” he said. “How do we stop it.”
We.
Not you.
Not me.
We.
Jina exhaled through her nose, trying to hold onto that.
“How long since I was…,” she hesitated, then chose a safer word. “How long since I collapsed.”
Lysander answered instantly. “Two nights.”
Jina’s stomach dropped.
Two nights poisoned, in a hostile environment, hypothermic, bleeding, and she was still breathing?
Either this body was tougher than it looked or the poison was designed to kill slowly.
Which was worse.
She pressed the heel of her hand to her sternum, feeling the tightness. “Do you know what poison it was.”
Lysander’s eyes flickered. “Virella.”
The name landed like a stone.
Not because it meant anything to Jina.
Because it meant everything to him.
He said it like an accusation he’d been swallowing for days.
“Virella did this?” Jina asked.
Lysander’s gaze held hers. “She gave you a parting gift.”
Jina’s brain latched onto the only stable ground: a culprit. A timeline. A motive.
“Did anyone ever survive it?” she asked.
“No.”
Of course.
Jina’s mouth went dry.
Okay.
No pressure.
She lifted her shaking hands and began patting down the robe she was wearing—rich fabric, torn and filthy. Searching for… something.
A pocket. A vial. Anything.
Nothing.
Lysander watched her hands. “What are you doing.”
“Looking for supplies I don’t have,” she muttered.
He didn’t understand the tone, but he understood the problem.
Without speaking, he reached into his pack and pulled out a small roll of cloth, a short knife, and a bundle of dried herbs. He set them beside her like offerings.
Jina stared.
Herbs.
Great.
Her entire medical toolkit reduced to… herbs.
She rubbed her forehead. The skin there felt too tight. Feverish.
“I need heat,” she said. “And fluids. And—” she glanced at the herbs “—and I need to know what those are.”
Lysander pointed. “This one calms. This one stops bleeding. This one keeps you awake.”
“Convenient,” Jina breathed.
He didn’t smile. “It’s what I could find.”
The way he said it made her chest pinch.
Like he’d been collecting these things while she was dying, like a man trying to build an ICU out of dirt.
Jina picked up the “calms” herb and crushed a bit between her fingers. It smelled sharp, minty, with a bitter edge.
“Okay,” she said. “We make tea.”
Lysander blinked. “Tea.”
“It’s hot water with herbs,” she said, then corrected herself, because she didn’t have time to be snippy. “It might help with the nausea and the shaking. It’s not a cure. But I need my body to stop falling apart long enough to think.”
Lysander nodded once. “Fire.”
He rose and moved outside the shelter with the knife, quick and silent.
Jina watched him for a second, then forced her eyes away.
Because watching him felt… unsafe.
Not because he was threatening.
Because if she let herself believe he was safe, she might tell the truth.
And the truth could get her killed.
If I say I’m not Aurelia, what does a shadow guard do?
Protect the princess.
Remove the intruder.
Jina’s stomach twisted again.
She closed her eyes and focused on breathing.
In.
Out.
In—
A thread yanked.
Cold terror slammed into her chest, so sharp it stole her breath.
Jina’s eyes flew open.
Her hands shook.
This wasn’t her fear.
It tasted wrong. Like swallowing ice water.
Someone—somewhere—was panicking.
The cold thread throbbed.
Jina pressed a fist to her sternum, trying to ground herself.
“Stop,” she whispered automatically.
Nothing happened.
Thank god.
The word didn’t carry weight. Not yet.
Or maybe she wasn’t using it the right way.
Either way, she didn’t want to find out.
Not like this.
Not when she wasn’t sure she could stop.
The cold panic eased slightly, then returned in a wave.
Jina’s vision swam.
Okay. Symptom. Connection. Not mine. Not mine.
She grabbed the flask and took another slow sip.
Her stomach lurched but held.
Barely.
Lysander returned with dry twigs and a small flint. He crouched, shielded the spark with his hands, and coaxed the fire into being like he was convincing it, not forcing it.
When the first flame caught, warm air licked Jina’s face.
She hadn’t realized how deep the cold had sunk until the warmth made her ache.
Lysander set a small pot over the flame—where he’d gotten a pot, Jina didn’t know and didn’t ask.
He poured water from his canteen, then dropped the crushed herb in.
Steam rose.
It smelled bitter.
Jina’s stomach tightened in warning.
“Drink,” Lysander said, like it was the answer to everything.
“Later,” she said. “Not until it cools. And not until I’m sure it won’t make me vomit.”
Lysander’s gaze sharpened. “You need it.”
“I need my airway clear more,” she snapped, then immediately winced. “Sorry. I’m—” she waved at her body “—not in my best mood.”
He didn’t look offended. He looked… relieved, in a strange way.
Like sharpness meant she was still alive enough to fight.
While the tea cooled, Jina tried to do something she hated: inventory.
No equipment.
No medicine.
No knowledge of local plants.
A hostile wasteland.
A body already dying.
And four soul-threads connected to four unknown men who hated her.
Wonderful.
She pressed two fingers to her neck again. Pulse still fast. Still skipping.
Her lips were dry. Her tongue felt thick.
She glanced at Lysander.
He was watching the horizon.
Always watching.
Never resting.
“Do you sleep?” she asked before she could stop herself.
Lysander’s eyes flicked to her. “When you do.”
Jina didn’t like how that felt in her chest.
“Okay,” she said, and forced herself back to the task. “Tell me exactly what happened before I—” she searched for a word that didn’t admit too much. “Before I collapsed.”
Lysander’s jaw tightened. “You left the capital. Alone.”
Jina waited.
“The Emperor ordered exile,” he continued, voice flat. “To save your head.”
Save your head.
That phrase hit different than “exile.”
“It didn’t work,” he added.
Jina stared at him. “Because they still tried to kill me.”
“Yes.”
Simple. Brutal.
“And you followed,” she said, because she needed to understand the man in front of her.
Lysander didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
No justification.
No explanation.
Just yes.
Jina swallowed. “Why?”
His eyes went to her face. Held it.
Then he looked away like eye contact was too intimate for this conversation.
“Because that is what I do.”
That wasn’t an answer.
That was a cage.
Jina wanted to pry it open.
She didn’t have the strength.
So she chose another angle.
“If the Emperor exiled… Aurelia,” she forced herself to say the name without flinching, “why would a group want her dead more than him?”
Lysander’s gaze sharpened. “Diadem.”
The word was unfamiliar, but the way he said it wasn’t.
It was the way people said knife.
“Who are they?” Jina asked.
Lysander’s mouth tightened. “A hand on every throat.”
That was one sentence, and it told her enough.
Power behind power.
A system that didn’t need a crown to rule.
Jina’s stomach turned.
If Diadem wanted Aurelia dead, and Aurelia was supposed to be dead—
Then Jina’s existence was a problem.
She exhaled slowly.
No wonder her instincts had screamed don’t tell him.
Because it wasn’t just Lysander she had to fear.
It was everyone.
Lysander lifted the pot off the fire and poured a small amount into a cup.
He held it out.
Jina stared at it.
Steam rose in thin ribbons.
Her hands shook as she took it.
“Small sips,” she said out loud, mostly to herself.
She drank.
It was vile.
Bitter and sharp and earthy.
Her stomach bucked, then settled, grudging.
Okay.
That was something.
Warmth seeped into her throat, down into her chest.
It didn’t fix the pressure, but it made breathing slightly less like drowning.
She took another sip.
And another.
Lysander watched her drink like it was a battle he didn’t trust her to win alone.
When she finished, she set the cup down with shaking hands.
“Now,” she said. “We need to keep me warm. Keep me awake. And keep moving toward—what? The Empire?”
Lysander nodded once. “There is an outpost two days from here.”
Two days.
Jina’s pulse stuttered again like it was laughing.
“Can I make it in two days?” she asked.
Lysander’s stare didn’t waver. “Yes.”
That confidence irritated her.
It also… helped.
Jina pressed her palms together, trying to coax warmth into her fingers. The threads flickered at the motion, like they noticed.
She froze.
“Do they—” she started, then stopped.
Lysander waited.
Jina swallowed. “Do the bonds react to what I do.”
Lysander’s jaw tightened. “They react to what you are.”
Great.
So even existing was harm.
Jina closed her eyes briefly.
Okay. New plan. Stay alive. Then figure out how to stop the screaming.
She opened her eyes and looked at Lysander.
“Listen,” she said, voice steadier than she felt. “I don’t remember everything. And I’m not going to pretend I do.”
Lysander’s gaze held hers. Sharp. Testing.
“But I need you to trust one thing,” she continued. “I don’t want them to suffer.”
Silence.
Wind hissed outside the rock shelter.
Then Lysander spoke, quiet and brutal.
“They’ve been suffering for years.”
Jina flinched, because he wasn’t accusing her.
He was stating a fact.
And facts were harder to argue with than blame.
“I know,” she said, even though she didn’t. Not really. Not fully. But she’d felt enough through those threads to believe him.
Lysander leaned closer, just slightly.
His voice dropped. “If you lie to me—”
He didn’t finish.
He didn’t have to.
Jina nodded once. “Fair.”
Her mouth was dry again.
She wanted to ask if he’d kill her if he knew.
She didn’t.
Instead she made a decision.
One that didn’t rely on trust she hadn’t earned.
“Then we work like this,” she said. “You keep me alive. I will tell you what I can. And if those bonds flare—” she gestured weakly at the air “—I tell you. No hiding.”
Lysander watched her for a long beat.
Then he nodded once.
A pact.
Not comfort.
Not friendship.
A pact between two people in a hostile place.
Jina exhaled.
It helped. A little.
The warmth from the tea faded fast, swallowed by the cold in her bones.
Her eyelids grew heavy, the edges of her vision softening.
Sleep tried to drag her under like a tide.
Jina clenched her teeth.
“No,” she whispered.
Lysander’s hand moved, hovering near her shoulder.
He paused. “May I?”
Jina forced herself to look at him.
There was no softness on his face.
Just a careful control, like even touching her was something he didn’t take for granted.
She nodded.
Lysander’s hand settled on her shoulder—firm, grounding.
Not a caress.
An anchor.
“Stay with me,” he said.
Jina tried to answer.
Her tongue felt thick.
A thread yanked.
Hot rage this time—fierce, proud, furious—like someone waking in chains and biting the air.
Pain flared under her ribs.
Jina gasped, fingers digging into her own thigh.
Lysander’s grip tightened. “Which one.”
Jina swallowed hard, forcing focus through the ache.
“The angry one,” she rasped. “He’s—he’s awake. He’s—”
The thread pulsed again.
A surge of rage so hot it made her teeth ache.
Jina’s vision blurred.
Lysander’s voice didn’t shake.
That was worse.
“They know,” he said quietly. “All of them will know.”
Jina’s stomach dropped.
“How fast?” she whispered.
Lysander stared into the storm outside.
Then back at her.
“Fast enough,” he said.
And Jina understood the real problem.
It wasn’t just the poison.
It wasn’t just the bonds.
It was time.
And she was running out of it.
