The knife in Joy's back made my stomach turn. I moved to her side as she collapsed to her knees, her pale skin marked with cuts and bruises that told a story I wasn't ready to hear. Blood from the fresh wound trickled down her spine, joining other half-dried streams that painted her skin like a macabre canvas.

  Something else caught my eye. There on her shoulder blade, raw and inflamed, was a mark I recognized immediately. Marcelo's family crest. Bile rose in my throat. The brand was fresh, the skin around it angry and blistered. I shifted position slightly, angling my body to block Jacobi's view of it. He didn't need to see that, not yet.

  Jacobi's jaw clenched, the muscles working beneath his skin. "We need to get her out of here." Each word came through gritted teeth, barely controlled rage vibrating in his voice.

  I nodded, not trusting my voice. I wanted to hunt Marcelo down and peel the skin from his body in strips. I wanted to brand his flesh with my own mark, to make him understand what he'd done. The rage that had propelled me through Dario's tavern, that had driven me to pin the man's hand to the table with my dagger, was nothing compared to the cold, murderous calm settling over me now.

  We positioned ourselves on either side of her. Her claws dug into my shoulder as she gripped us for support, the pain sharp but inconsequential compared to what she must be feeling. I barely registered it, focused instead on keeping her upright.

  Jacobi nodded toward the bed. "Hold her."

  I tightened my grip around Joy's waist as Jacobi moved away. She leaned more heavily against me, her breathing shallow and uneven. Heat radiated from her skin where it pressed against mine, her fever still burning through her.

  The bed where they'd kept her was a nightmare of stained linens and frayed ropes. Blood had dried in rusty patterns across the mattress, telling stories I couldn't bear to interpret. The remnants of the restraints that had held her down left no question about how she'd been kept.

  I reached for the least soiled blanket, trying to focus only on the task at hand, not on imagining what had happened on this bed. Not on calculating how long she'd been here while we searched. Not on what Marcelo had done to her.

  When I turned back, Joy swayed on her feet. She looked fragile in a way I'd never seen before, even when she'd collapsed in the arena. This wasn't a calculated move or a strategic retreat. This was true vulnerability, and it cut me deeper than I expected.

  I approached with the blanket, trying to figure out how to wrap it around her without disturbing the knife still embedded in her back. The blade's handle protruded between her shoulder blades, the sight of it making me more nauseous.

  Joy shifted suddenly, trying to look back at me, and the movement jostled the knife. A choked cry escaped her throat, transforming midway into a growl. Her hand shot back instinctively toward the source of pain. Before I could stop her, her clawed fingers found the hilt of the dagger and yanked.

  The weapon clattered to the stone floor, and fresh blood poured from the wound. Joy's knees buckled.

  Jacobi dove forward to catch her. "Damn it!"

  I lunged for her other side, supporting her weight as her head lolled against my chest. "Why did you do that?" Panic edged my voice, making it sharper than I intended.

  Joy's eyes drifted unfocused, her face pallid beneath the bruises. "Hurts.”

  I pressed the blanket against the wound, blood immediately soaking through the thin fabric. "We should have left it in until we found help."

  A sharp look from Jacobi cut through my rising panic. "Too late now."

  As I wrapped the blanket around Joy's shoulders, careful to maintain pressure on the bleeding wound, I positioned the fabric to cover the brand I'd already seen. My eyes met Jacobi's questioning gaze across Joy's hunched form. I saw the question there, whether he'd glimpsed the brand or simply read something in my expression. I gave a small shake of my head, silently warning him not to ask, not now. He clenched his jaw, a muscle jumping beneath the skin, but nodded once in understanding.

  Joy clutched the edges of the blanket, pulling it tight around herself. She kept her gaze fixed on the floor, refusing to look at either of us. Her white hair hung in limp, blood-streaked strands around her face, creating a curtain behind which she could hide.

  The smell of smoke suddenly cut through the cellar's damp air. All three of us looked up at once, noticing the thin tendrils of gray seeping through the doorway at the top of the stairs.

  "Fire," I said, the word falling like a stone between us.

  Jacobi's face hardened. "Marcelo." He crouched slightly, trying to catch Joy's downcast eyes. "Joy, where is Ellah?"

  A soft sob escaped her lips, and she shook her head. The sound broke something in me, this warrior reduced to tears.

  "Come on, we need to get out now." Jacobi's voice took on the commanding tone he used when panic threatened but couldn't be afforded.

  We moved toward the cellar's back exit, supporting Joy between us. Her steps were uneven, her feet dragging as we guided her forward. I felt every wince, every hitch in her breath as we moved, each one a fresh accusation. We should have found her sooner.

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  Just before we reached the door, I stopped, suddenly remembering. "Wait. What about Dario? I left him trapped there."

  Joy squeezed my arm where I supported her. "Leave him." Her voice came rough and bitter through her tears.

  A wry smile twisted my lips. Even in her state, there was something of the Joy I knew. "I hoped you'd say that."

  The smoke grew thicker as we made our way out the cellar door into the alley behind the tavern. The night air was cool on my skin after the cellar's damp warmth, but it provided little relief. The crackling of flames grew louder behind us, and I didn't look back. Dario could burn with his establishment for all I cared.

  Joy stumbled between us, each step clearly requiring immense effort. Her tears had stopped, replaced by a focused determination I recognized from watching her fight. She was battling now, too, against her own body's weakness.

  We made our way slowly down the street, trying to find a path that would lead us back to familiar territory. When I glanced back, Dario's tavern was completely engulfed in flames, orange light casting long shadows down the alley.

  We needed to find help, and soon. The wound on her back hadn't stopped bleeding, and I could feel the blanket growing heavier with blood where it pressed against my arm. Flashes of what Marcelo might have done to her invaded my thoughts with each step. Each cut, each bruise, each mark on her skin represented time. Time we'd wasted. Time she'd suffered. I had insisted on planning, on caution, when we should have been hunting.

  "Too slow," I muttered under my breath. "We were too damned slow."

  Jacobi shot me a look but said nothing. The guilt in his eyes mirrored my own. We'd failed her, both of us. While we'd joked on the boat, laughed with our friends, she'd been strapped to that bed, Marcelo's plaything. The thought made my hand twitch toward my remaining blade.

  When we reached the edge of the neighborhood, we stopped. The signposts that had guided visitors in offered no direction out. I couldn't remember which way we'd come with Jessie—my mind had been too focused on finding Joy to pay attention to our route.

  "We need to get back to The Elysium." I thought of Susan, how quickly she had assessed Joy at Jacobi's estate. "Susan might still be there."

  Jacobi shook his head, expression grim in the dim light. "They were checking out. They'd be on the water by now." His eyes met mine over Joy's shoulder. "The Dusk Blush? They'd keep a healer around, surely?"

  I knew what he was really suggesting. Annabeth might help us, might have connections we could use. But his timing grated on my already frayed nerves.

  "No other reason, I'm sure." The edge in my voice could have cut glass.

  Jacobi's lips pressed into a thin line as he glared at me. The tension between us wasn't new, but it had taken on a different quality since Joy left the estate. I'd seen how he looked at her, even in her current state. The possessiveness wasn't just about ownership anymore.

  I pushed the thought aside. We had more pressing concerns than Jacobi's conflicted feelings. Joy was injured, Ellah was still missing, and Marcelo was free, likely planning his next move. This wasn't the time for jealousy or posturing.

  In the silence of our staring contest, the sound of cartwheels on stone reached us. We both turned toward the noise as a carriage passed across a street further up from where we stood.

  Jacobi's expression shifted, practicality overriding anger. "That's what we need. Hold her."

  He released his grip on Joy, leaving me to support her full weight as he straightened his clothing and strode toward the main road. Joy sagged against me, her head coming to rest on my shoulder. I felt her tears soaking through my shirt, the dampness spreading as her silent crying continued.

  I wanted to say something, to offer comfort or reassurance, but what could I possibly say? What words would matter after what she'd been through? Instead, I held her as tightly as I dared, trying to be careful of her injuries while still letting her know she wasn't alone.

  The sound of approaching hooves and wheels pulled my attention back to the street. A carriage appeared, ornately decorated and clearly belonging to someone of means. Jacobi stood on the back step, having apparently charmed or bribed his way aboard.

  He jumped down as they approached. "This very kind gentleman offered to assist." The driver remained in his seat, face impassive as he looked down at us.

  The carriage door swung open from within, and a female Naerithi's head emerged. Her lilac skin caught the moonlight with an almost ethereal glow, contrasting sharply with the gold accents of the carriage as she surveyed the scene before her. Her eyes widened as they fell on Joy, taking in the bruises, the blood-soaked blanket, the state of her.

  The woman paled visibly, then jumped down and held the door open without a word. Jacobi and I helped Joy climb into the carriage, trying to be gentle. Each small movement caused her to tense or gasp, and by the time we had her settled inside, I felt physically ill from causing her pain.

  The Naerithi woman stood at the door for a moment, swallowing hard as if searching for words. "I'll sit with my driver if it's all the same with you." Her voice strained against some emotion she was trying to contain.

  We nodded our thanks, and she shut the door carefully before climbing up to sit beside the driver. Through the window, I watched them exchange words, then the driver cracked his whip and the carriage lurched forward.

  Inside, the carriage was plushly appointed, with velvet seats and gilt trim that spoke of wealth. Joy sat hunched on one side, her sobbing now reduced to occasional shuddering breaths. She stared fixedly at the floor, still refusing to meet our eyes.

  Jacobi and I exchanged glances repeatedly, both of us opening our mouths to speak before thinking better of it. What could we possibly say? That we were sorry we hadn't found her sooner? That we would make Marcelo pay? That things would somehow be alright? None of it seemed adequate, and so we traveled in silence, the only sounds the creaking of the carriage and Joy's ragged breathing.

  The blanket around her shoulders had gone from grey to dark red where it covered her back. We needed to get her to a healer, and soon. But first, we needed to get her somewhere safe, somewhere Marcelo couldn't find her again.

  I stared at her white hair, matted with blood and sweat, and fought down another wave of guilt that threatened to swallow me whole. I should have insisted we follow her immediately. I should have been quicker with Dario. I should have… so many things. The thoughts circled endlessly, sharp as razors against my conscience.

  My hand clenched and unclenched at my side, my body craving the release of violence. I'd shown Dario a fraction of what I was capable of. The darkness I kept in check through rigid control seethed beneath the surface, demanding more. It wanted Marcelo's blood, wanted to inflict on him each wound he'd given her, multiplied tenfold. I'd spent my life cultivating an image of gentleness, of reason, of measured responses. But beneath that mask lived something else, something I'd glimpsed in Joy's eyes during her arena fights.

  Joy's head drooped against my shoulder, her body growing heavier against mine. Whether surrendering to exhaustion or blood loss, I couldn't tell, but I wrapped my arm more securely around her, anchoring her to me as the carriage carried us through the darkened streets toward an uncertain destination.