Run. Let's See How Far You Make It.
⸻
The Blackwood estate did not fall silent.
It hollowed out.
What remained was not quiet—but absence. The kind that settled after violence had passed through a place and taken something with it. The gates lay broken where they had been torn apart, iron twisted, symbols fractured, whatever magic had once held them now nothing more than fading residue clinging to splintered metal.
Inside, the air still carried the echo of the clash.
Blood.
Power.
And something unfinished.
Rowan did not look back.
He stepped out through the ruined entrance without pause, the fragments of the shattered doors crunching faintly beneath his boots. Behind him, his clan moved through the remains of the estate with ruthless precision, securing what little resistance remained, containing those who had not managed to flee.
It should have felt like victory.
It didn't.
Because she wasn't there.
The realization had settled the moment he crossed the threshold.
Too clean.
Too empty.
Like she had never been inside at all.
Rowan stopped at the edge of the courtyard, the cold night air pressing against him as if testing the shift in him. For a moment, he stood still—completely still—as though the world had narrowed to something only he could perceive.
The bond stirred.
Faint.
Distorted.
But alive.
His jaw tightened.
Behind him, footsteps approached, careful, measured.
"Some of them are contained," one of his men said. "Others are still being tracked. We can—"
"Secure what's left."
The interruption was quiet.
Absolute.
The man stilled instantly.
Rowan didn't turn.
"I'll finish the rest."
No one questioned him.
They didn't need to.
Because whatever had walked into Blackwood tonight—
was no longer here.
Rowan moved.
And this time—
he moved alone.
⸻
The distance did not matter.
It never had.
Not when it came to her.
Rowan's pace did not slow as he crossed beyond the estate grounds, the darkness swallowing him easily, bending around him as though it recognized something it should not interfere with.
He closed his eyes.
Just for a moment.
The bond stretched outward immediately.
A thread.
Thin.
Pulled tight across distance and interference, something unnatural pressing against it, distorting its direction, weakening its clarity.
Witchcraft.
Rowan exhaled slowly.
The connection slipped—
then held.
Then slipped again.
Not gone.
Never gone.
But hidden.
Shielded.
"Clever," he murmured under his breath.
But not enough.
His head tilted slightly, listening—not to sound, but to something deeper, something that did not rely on space or distance.
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then—
a flicker.
Faint.
Unstable.
His eyes opened.
Dark.
Focused.
"Running won't save you."
The words were quiet.
Certain.
And then he moved again—faster this time, the ground barely registering his presence as he followed something no one else could see.
⸻
The car did not take the main roads.
It didn't need to.
The route twisted through quieter parts of the city, slipping between places where lights dimmed and movement slowed, where presence was less likely to be noticed—or remembered.
Inside, the air remained still.
Controlled.
Too controlled.
Lucien sat across from her.
He had not moved in minutes.
Not physically.
His gaze remained fixed on Trisha, watching the subtle shifts that passed through her even in unconsciousness—the uneven rhythm of her breathing, the slight tension in her fingers, the faint crease that had begun to form between her brows.
She was not at rest.
Not completely.
Something in her resisted.
Something deeper than whatever spell had pulled her under.
Lucien leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful, his fingers resting lightly against his knee.
"You're stronger than you look," he said quietly.
The words were not meant to wake her.
They weren't meant for response.
Just observation.
His gaze drifted to her hand.
The ring wasn't there.
But he saw it anyway.
Memory had a way of doing that—filling in what was missing with something that refused to stay buried.
His jaw tightened slightly.
"You wore it once."
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Or perhaps he hadn't intended to.
The image lingered in his mind.
A different time.
A different face.
But the same feeling.
The same certainty.
The same loss.
His gaze returned to Trisha slowly, studying her as though the answer might reveal itself if he looked long enough.
"But not for me."
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Unmoving.
Lucien exhaled slowly, his hand lifting without thought, drawn toward her—toward the strand of hair that had fallen across her cheek.
His fingers hovered.
Close enough to touch.
The mark reacted.
This time, it wasn't subtle.
Heat surged outward sharply, immediate and aggressive, the air around her shifting as though rejecting the contact before it could happen.
Lucien stilled instantly.
The burn lingered against his skin—sharp, deliberate, unmistakable.
He withdrew his hand slowly.
His gaze darkened.
"That's not fear," he murmured.
"It's him."
Not influence.
Not control.
Something else.
Something that didn't need to be present to be real.
Lucien leaned back again, his expression settling into something quieter.
Colder.
More resolved.
"You don't even know what he is to you," he said softly.
No response.
Of course not.
"And you don't know what he's taken from you."
A pause.
Then—
a shift.
Subtle.
But final.
Lucien's gaze hardened just slightly, something beneath it settling into place.
Understanding.
Not of her.
Of the situation.
"You were never going to choose me."
The words came without bitterness.
Without anger.
Just truth.
And that—
was the problem.
His fingers curled slightly against his palm.
A decision forming.
Solidifying.
"Then I'll make sure you don't have to choose."
The car moved faster.
⸻
Trisha drifted somewhere between silence and sound.
Not fully aware.
Not fully gone.
Fragments moved through her—light, shadow, something that felt like memory but refused to settle into clarity.
Her breath hitched slightly.
Then steadied.
Then—
shifted again.
Her fingers twitched faintly against the seat.
The mark pulsed.
Warm.
Alive.
Calling.
Her lips parted.
The word came without effort.
Without thought.
"Rowan…"
⸻
Miles away—
Rowan stopped.
The shift hit him instantly.
Clean.
Sharp.
Unmistakable.
His head lifted slowly, his gaze locking onto something in the distance that no one else could see.
The bond surged.
Stronger now.
Clearer.
Cutting through whatever interference had tried to bury it.
His breath stilled.
For a moment—
everything else fell away.
"She's awake," he said quietly.
Not fully.
But enough.
Enough for him.
His lips pressed into a thin line, something darker settling beneath the surface of his control.
"She's calling."
And this time—
he heard her.
Perfectly.
Rowan turned.
No hesitation.
No doubt.
Direction locked.
His voice dropped, quiet but edged with something lethal.
"Found you."
And then—
he moved.
Faster than before.
Faster than anything human could comprehend.
The distance between them—
shrinking with every step.
⸻
Inside the car, Lucien felt it.
The shift wasn't physical.
Not entirely.
But it was there.
Something tightening.
Something closing in.
His gaze flickered briefly toward the window, then back to her.
The mark pulsed again.
Stronger.
More insistent.
Lucien's expression darkened.
"He's closer."
Not a question.
A realization.
He exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening slightly against the armrest.
So.
It had come to this.
His gaze returned to her once more, lingering for just a moment longer.
Then—
he leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering.
"Run?" he murmured.
A faint, humorless smile touched his lips.
"No."
His eyes hardened.
"We don't run."
The car surged forward.
Faster.
Deeper into the night.
⸻
Rowan didn't slow.
Didn't stop.
The world blurred around him, the city falling away as he followed the only thing that mattered—the pull that guided him forward with absolute certainty.
Closer.
Closer.
Closer.
His expression didn't change.
But something beneath it had.
Something sharper.
More dangerous.
More final.
"You can hide her," he said under his breath.
The night did not answer.
It didn't need to.
"Let's see how far you make it…before I take her back."
And this time—
it wasn't a threat.
It was a promise.