Tomorrow, he’d make sure she understood exactly what serving him meant.
8
Elsa
The door opened before dawn.
Elsa jerked upright in the nest of furs, heart slamming against her ribs. The blue-lit chamber had lulled her into something almost like safety during the night—warm stone, soft bedding, the illusion of privacy.
The illusion shattered the moment Sylas filled the doorway.
He didn’t knock. Didn’t announce himself. Just entered his own space like the apex predator he was, cyan eyes finding her in the half-dark with unnerving precision.
“Get up.” His voice rumbled low, still rough with whatever passed for sleep among his kind. “We leave in twenty minutes.”
Elsa’s fingers clutched the furs. “Leave for where?”
“The wreck site.” He moved to the table, setting down a bundle she hadn’t noticed he’d been carrying. “Your escape pod. Where the Moon Tear core waits.”
Her pulse kicked up. The core. The thing she’d overheard them discussing, the valuable piece of technology that might be her only leverage in this nightmare.
Sylas gestured to the bundle. “Put those on. The storm-woods will kill you in that.” His gaze raked over the thin shift she’d worn to bed, dismissive and clinical all at once.
Elsa stood slowly, the furs sliding away. Cold air kissed her skin despite the chamber’s warmth—or maybe that was just the chill of his presence. She approached the table, eyeing the bundle with suspicion.
He’d brought her clothes.
Not the ruined gown or the simple shift. Real clothing designed for survival. Thick leggings made from material that looked like leather but felt softer when she touched it. A tunic woven from dark wool-like fabric, heavy and warm. Boots lined with fur, sized small enough they might actually fit her.
And a cloak. Midnight blue, lined with white fur that reminded her uncomfortably of his own coloring. The clasp was silver, worked into a design she didn’t recognize—swirling patterns that might be decorative or might be meaningful.
“You’re taking me outside the fortress.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m taking you to prove your worth.” Sylas leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching her with that predatory patience. “You claimed to be a navigator. Time to navigate.”
Elsa’s jaw tightened. She lifted the tunic, feeling its weight. Proper winter gear. Not the kind of thing they’d give someone they planned to let freeze.
“And if I refuse?”
His lips pulled back, flashing teeth. “Then you stay here while we excavate blind. Waste time. Waste resources.” He tilted his head. “And when we finally find the core—or don’t—I’ll reconsider whether keeping you alive serves any purpose beyond your scent.”
The threat landed with the subtlety of a hammer.
Elsa grabbed the clothes, turning her back on him. She stripped off the shift without ceremony—he’d seen her in lessalready, and false modesty wouldn’t earn her anything here. The new garments slid on with surprising ease, designed for quick layering.
The material blocked the cold immediately. Held her body heat close. The boots fit nearly perfectly, their fur lining soft against her bare feet.
She fastened the cloak around her shoulders, feeling its weight settle. Protection. Real, tangible protection against a climate that could kill her in minutes.
When she turned back, Sylas was holding the wristband.
The dark metal gleamed in the blue light, its central gem pulsing with that steady rhythm. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them before she could retreat.
“No.” The word came out sharper than intended.
“Yes.” He caught her wrist—not roughly, but firm enough that pulling away would require a struggle she’d lose. “You wear my mark in the wilderness, or you don’t go at all.”
“I told you I wouldn’t—”