There are two kinds of people in this world-the ones who run from danger and the ones who bring it with them.
—
Kieran had seen plenty of desperate people in his life. Runaways, thieves, warlocks on the verge of madness. But something about her was different.
She wasn't just running from something.
She was dragging it behind her.
The girl was unconscious in his arms, her breathing shallow. Her cloak, soaked from the rain, clung to her thin frame, and Kieran could see fresh scratches on her arms, as if she had forced her way through a forest in the dead of night.
And then there was the thing she carried.
A bundle of cloth, stained with blood. It wasn't big—about the size of a human head.
Kieran didn't like that thought.
Myrna was already moving, grabbing a lantern. "Get her to the back," she ordered. "I'll grab the tonic."
Kieran lifted the girl carefully and carried her to the storeroom, laying her down on a cot. He reached for the bloodied bundle, hesitating before peeling back the cloth.
His stomach tightened.
Inside was a severed hand—delicate, pale fingers curled inward, as if they had died mid-reach. The wrist was cut clean, the wound too precise to be from a wild animal.
This wasn't an accident. This was a message.
Myrna hissed when she saw it. "Lovely. Just what we needed. A half-dead girl and a severed hand."
Kieran's fingers twitched. A bad feeling coiled in his gut.
"What do we do?" he asked.
Myrna scowled. "Depends. You wanna live, or you wanna be stupid?"
Kieran glanced at the girl. Something told him that sending her back outside would be worse than keeping her here.
"…I'll take my chances with stupid."
Myrna snorted. "Figures." She tossed him a rag. "Clean her up. I'll keep watch."
Kieran turned back to the girl. Up close, she looked… fragile. Like a thing that had been chased for too long and finally collapsed. He hesitated, then gently brushed damp strands of hair from her face.
And then she grabbed his wrist.
Her eyes snapped open—wild, violet, and burning with something he didn't understand.
"You have to hide me," she whispered. "They're coming."
Kieran's pulse quickened.
"Who's coming?"
The answer came not from her lips, but from outside.
A heavy boom shook the walls.
Then came the voices.
Low. Steady. Like thorns scraping against stone.
"Open the door."
Kieran's heart pounded.
The Thorned Lords had arrived.