48. Gypsy

48

Gypsy

T he four of us step onto what looks like a normal island. Sand, rocks, jungle creeping in from the edges. And for a second, I almost let myself believe it’s just that—a regular spit of land in the middle of nowhere.

But I know better. This is Solis. Or, at least, some shadow of it. None of the suffocating magic or blistering heat that used to claw at your skin, but the air feels too still, like it’s all there, just hidden for now.

All because we passed the Trial.

We move forward, the sand grating underfoot, crunching with every step. The beach stretches out ahead, empty… until it isn’t.

There, right at the shoreline, stands the last person I’d ever want to see again.

Roche.

He’s a dark figure against the soft backdrop of the sea, arms crossed like he’s just been waiting for this moment. And he’s not alone—a dozen men at his back, each one armed to the teeth, their eyes fixed on us like they can already smell blood. But it’s his eyes, the way they lock onto Zayan, that sends ice through my veins. His lips curl into a smile that nightmares are made of.

“Well,” he growls, voice low and gravelly, “thought you could outrun me forever, boy?”

My heart slams hard, like it wants out of my chest.

And yeah, maybe I thought we could run. Maybe I thought we’d actually outsmarted him.

But I was wrong.

He’s caught us.

And this time, there’s no way for us to escape without a fight.

TO BE CONTINUED…