Ashes to Ashes | ✓

14.2 || Flight

The familiar creak of the string drawing back filled the air. The seconds slowly ticked by as his mind replayed the scene he had seen many times before—only this time, he was standing beside the target, and when the bolt struck her and killed her, there would be no satisfaction to wash over him. Fear sank its frigid claws into his chest, numb beneath the surface of his blank.

Shortly afterward, the snap of the bolt shooting out from the arrow track filled the air.

"Get down!"

Before he could fully process what he was doing, Felix tossed himself between Aiko and the bolt heading straight toward her. The sharp tip embedded itself in his shoulder, pushing straight through to the other side. Pain tore through his arm like fire and he ground out a hiss as he stumbled forward. Black spots danced at the edge of his vision, but he managed to steady himself. Gritting his teeth, he took Aiko's hand and broke into a sprint once again.

Sixty seconds. There were sixty seconds before the raven-haired girl could reload and shoot a second time. From the way she cursed behind them, her boots slamming against the cobblestone as she leapt down from whatever ledge she had perched herself on, the frustration of missing had put a chink in her pride. To her, the real game began if she missed.

There wasn't time to stop. The wound wasn't serious—and even if it was, he couldn't find it in him to care. His mind was a buzz of adrenaline and nothing else. There was no room to think anymore.

Aiko squeezed his hand. This time, the pace of her steps matched his. "Thanks," she said. "I owe you one now, right?"

A strained grin found its way to his face. "Please don't throw yourself between me and any sort of sharp thing."

She didn't laugh, and although it was right, he almost wished she would. The sound would have eased the pounding of his heart and the thrum of anxiety in his veins, but he couldn't blame her. The agony tearing through his shoulder with each movement was nothing to laugh about, and neither was the shrill whistle that sounded from behind them—a sound that mimicked the cry of a bird. He had heard it time and time again when he worked with the girl and her gang. He knew what followed.

His shoulder throbbed painfully each time his movement shifted the bolt lodged in his skin. Blood dripped from his fingers as his arm hung limp at his side.

It was nothing to laugh at, and yet, he felt the urge to. His throat tightened and the instinct sat on the tip of his tongue.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

The worn path that zig-zagged out to the hole in the inner wall came into view as exhaustion began to pull at Felix's limbs. Darkness seemed to press harder against him, thicker and more difficult to see through. A figure moved across the corner of his vision, but he had no time to react through the haze of adrenaline before his wounded arm was clamped firmly beneath a strong hand. He bit down a yelp as the figure wrestled him to the ground. The same rough, calloused hand grabbed him by the hair and pulled up, holding him as a knife landed against his throat. His vision flickered and the world swayed; it took a heartbeat for everything to settle.

Another man had grabbed hold of Aiko, twisting her arm and pinning it against her back. She cried out and struggled, but the man didn't so much as budge. She was as tiny and fragile as a bird, caught in the jaws of a wolf.

"Aiko," he gasped. The knife dug into his neck, warning him not to speak.

She met his gaze and held it firmly. Her hazel eyes burned with that brilliant flame of her soul, strong and resilient despite the hands that pinned her down. It was comforting, yet it seemed to be a desperate attempt to bury her fear.