The safe house feels like a sanctuary and a prison all at once. I keep a steady hand on Eileen's back, guiding her through the narrow hallways lined with protective runes. The walls here are thick, ancient, built to withstand assaults of both magic and steel.
The air is dense with tension, but it's also filled with a kind of warmth that comes from hard-won survival.
Zaya and the others are already here, bruised and battered but victorious, wearing expressions that are half-smiles, half-grimace. Relief washes over me like a wave, but beneath it, a steady undercurrent of dread pulls at my thoughts.
"Sit here," I whisper to Eileen as I help her onto a worn but sturdy sofa in the dimly lit common room. She looks exhausted, dark circles under her eyes and her skin pallid, but there's a light in her gaze that wasn't there before.
She nods, leaning into me, and I feel her body relax slightly against my side. My heart clenches with a mix of tenderness and fear.
