hearts of metal

lxx. tell us tomorrow

Aelin prided herself on being many, many things. Someone who got caught was not one of them.

"Cop cars," Lorcan hissed.

"I can see that," she shot back.

The warehouse, one of the last Valg compounds, was already in flames. Since Maeve died and the Valg lost their method of brainwashing soldiers, their forces had all but crumpled. Not one to leave jobs half-finished, Rhoe had insisted they remove any other Valg bases that they knew about, even if they were mostly empty or abandoned.

One of the cops seemed to notice their silhouettes, because he squinted and called out.

"Time to go," she whispered, grabbing Lorcan's sleeve as she dragged him down the narrow streets and into a set of alleyways. They disappeared as quickly as they could, hearing the shouts die out behind them.

They were lingering in the alley between buildings, the shadows covering them, as they watched red and blue lights flicker past them. Aelin turned and climbed up the nearest fire escape, before pulling herself over the ledge onto the roof.

She grinned as she heard Lorcan cursing behind her.

"Having trouble, Salvaterre?" she said.

He grunted. "No. Hurry up and move."

Once he was on the rooftop as well, they made their way across the city. Aelin taught Lorcan how to jump from roof to roof in crowded areas, which he reluctantly did once he saw the amount of cops still on the streets.

Eventually, once the streets were clear they clambered back down and simply walked. They walked in easy silence, as Aelin felt no desire to annoy him right then. Maybe later, she decided.

"Wanna fight?" she asked.

He sent her a scathing glance. "Your dad would kill me."

"You know you want to," she sang.

Lorcan scowled at her, but gave a terse nod. "One fight. Each. And not at the Guild, that place is more of a shithole than most."

"Fine. Lead the way, Salvaterre."

That was how, fifteen minutes later, Aelin was perched at the bar with a drink in hand. It was far nicer than the Guild, with sleek oak countertops and a very expensive collection of alcohol. The place was called Doranelle, as indicated by the emerald green writing above the bar.

From her seat, she could see into the ring. Lorcan was up against his opponent, and Aelin would begrudgingly admit that he was pretty good. The fight was over quick, as Lorcan seemed to prefer efficiency over theatrics.

When it was Aelin's turn to go, she sent Lorcan a smirk and said, "watch how it's done." She ignored his eye roll as she stalked up to the ring, hair tied back in a braid and hood pulled up to cast a shadow on her face.

It had far too long since she had fought like this. Slipping back into the comfortable arrogance of Celaena Sardothien, Adarlan's Assassin, she sent her opponent a wicked grin.

This'll be fun.

Aelin tossed on one of Rowan's shirts after she was done with her shower. The surge of adrenaline from her fight earlier had faded, leaving behind a warm buzz.

She opened the door to find her boyfriend already on her bed, waiting. She stalled, watching his expression as he read the book she'd left on the nightstand. His features shifted from a scowl with furrowed brows, to surprise as his eyebrows lifted. His mouth fell open, and she couldn't stop herself from laughing.