Episode 63 — When Shadows Bargain with Blood
Outside the mill, boots scraped against rusted steel, low voices carried on the morning wind. Raian heard them even through the ragged pounding of his pulse. Malik's men were close — too close.
Tariq's needle paused mid-stitch. "If you want her to live," he murmured without looking up, "you must keep them from coming inside. My hands can't finish this if they storm in."
Raian swallowed, the weight of choice crashing into his chest. Aria lay beneath Tariq's hands, face pale as moonlight, lips parted in shallow breaths. Every heartbeat felt like a fragile promise ready to break.
"I'll go," Saira croaked, trying to straighten despite the blood still seeping from her bandage.
Raian's jaw clenched. "You can barely stand."
"And you can barely breathe," she shot back, voice like gravel ground in fire. "But one of us has to stall them."
---
She staggered to the door, rain-matted hair clinging to her face. At the threshold, she stopped, turned back — her gaze catching Raian's for a heartbeat.
"Don't let her die," she whispered, voice cracking with something deeper than pain.
Then she stepped out into the rising dawn, shoulders squared like a soldier going to her last battle.
Raian forced his eyes back to Aria. Her chest still rose, but each breath was thin, ragged, as if her spirit fought to stay tethered.
---
Tariq's fingers worked quickly, brow furrowed. "The bullet nicked a vessel," he murmured, voice calm even as sweat beaded on his temples. "She'll live if the bleeding stops."
"If?" Raian rasped, voice rough as broken glass.
Tariq's gaze lifted, unreadable. "You brought her into hell. Now pray it doesn't claim her."
---
Outside, voices rose — Saira's low snarl mixing with deeper, colder threats.
"You've lost weight, sister," one man taunted, words dripping contempt. "Where's the traitor king you follow?"
"Dead and buried," Saira spat back. "Nothing here for you but rust and ghosts."
A harsh laugh cut through the morning mist. "Ghosts don't bleed. We'll see what we find inside."
---
Raian's hand hovered near the pistol at his belt, breath rattling in broken ribs. His heart beat like a drum, louder than the rain, louder than fear itself.
"Keep working," he told Tariq, voice low, almost pleading.
"And you?" Tariq asked, without pausing.
"I buy her time," Raian rasped.
---
He stepped away from the cot, each breath a fresh knife in his side. His shadow stretched long across the dusty floor, tangled in the slanting dawn light.
Past broken windows, he saw them: three figures moving between crates, blades flashing cold and merciless.
Saira stood alone before them, blood staining her bandage, shoulders heaving.
Raian's throat tightened. "Hold them a little longer," he whispered, voice cracking like thin ice.
---
One of Malik's men stepped closer, boots crunching broken glass. "Where's your king, Saira?" he sneered. "Or did he finally leave you to rot?"
Raian's pulse surged, rage tightening every muscle.
"Behind you," he growled.
The man spun — too late.
Raian's fist smashed into his jaw, bone cracking under bloodied knuckles. Pain flared like fire in Raian's ribs, but he didn't stop. He slammed the man back into rusted crates, metal shrieking.
Another attacker lunged, blade arcing toward Raian's side. Raian pivoted, pain ripping through him, and drove his knee into the man's stomach. The blade clattered to the ground.
---
Saira, gasping, swung a broken pipe. It glanced off the third man's arm, slowing him just enough for Raian to grab him by the collar and slam his head against steel.
Blood splattered, hot and bright.
The man crumpled. The warehouse fell silent, breathless but for the thunder of hearts.
---
Raian's chest heaved, sweat mixing with blood on his face. He turned to Saira, who leaned heavily on the crate, eyes glazed but alive.
"You should've run," she rasped.
"So should you," he shot back, voice raw.
A faint, humorless smile tugged at her cracked lips. "Still stubborn," she murmured.
---
Inside, Tariq's voice broke the hush. "Raian — she needs you."
Raian limped back inside, vision blurring at the edges. Aria lay still, breath so faint it barely stirred the stained cloth on her chest.
"Talk to her," Tariq commanded, not unkindly. "Anchor her here."
Raian knelt beside her, trembling hand brushing sweat-damp hair from her forehead. His voice, when it came, was softer than he'd ever known it could be.
"Aria," he rasped, breath catching. "Don't leave me. Not now."
---
Memories flashed behind his eyes: her laughter echoing in rain-dark alleys, her trembling hands stitching his wounds, the stubborn fire in her gaze that defied even death.
"I dragged you into my world," he whispered, voice cracking, "but I won't let it take you."
Outside, wind rattled broken glass; inside, the only sound was her shallow, trembling breath.
"Do you hear me?" he pleaded, forehead pressing to hers. "I need you. Damn it, Aria, stay."
---
Tariq's hands moved slower now, blood mostly staunched, but the danger had not passed.
"She'll need more than stitches," he murmured. "A transfusion. Rest. Time you may not have."
Raian's jaw tightened, voice rough with promise and prayer. "Then I'll buy her every second left."
Outside, the river flowed, carrying whispers of betrayal and hope alike.
And in that rusted mill, love fought its silent, stubborn war — against blood, against fate, against every shadow waiting to claim what mattered most.
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Teaser for Episode 64:
News from Malik's men brings a chilling ultimatum: Raian must face Malik himself — or watch the last light fade from Aria's eyes.