Chapter 2

The damp, freezing air of the abandoned maintenance tunnels bit through my thin coat as I dragged Finn forward. We burst through a rusted access hatch and stumbled into the forgotten, overgrown shell of the old botanical greenhouse. The heavy iron door clanged shut behind us, its rusted deadbolt groaning as I forced it into place. I slumped against the freezing metal, gasping for breath, my hands stained with soot and silver powder.

Beside me, Finn was shivering violently, but it wasn't just from the winter cold. His eyes were wide, unblinking pools of terror. The air around him shimmered with an unnatural chill. White frost rapidly crystallized on the stone floor beneath his boots, creeping upward along the glass walls and killing the few surviving vines. His uncontrolled fear was physically freezing the room, threatening to turn our fragile hiding place into an ice tomb that would draw the guards straight to us.

"Finn, look at me," I whispered, dropping to my knees and ignoring the biting ice seeping through my skirt. I pulled my surviving satchel around and dug frantically inside. I bypassed the ruined vials and pulled out a small, crushed bundle of dried peppermint and white sage. I rubbed the leaves aggressively between my palms, releasing a sharp, grounding aroma.

I cupped my hands over his small, trembling nose. "Smell this. Breathe it in."

Finn gasped, choking on his tears, but he inhaled the pungent scent.

"Name what you feel," I instructed, keeping my voice steady, masking my own devastation. "Don't let it just be cold. Give it a name."

"I... I'm scared," he whimpered, his small fingers gripping my wrists. "I'm scared of the cages. I'm scared of him."

"I know," I said gently. "Focus on the sage. It's bitter, isn't it? Focus on the mint." As he concentrated on my hands, his breathing slowed. The creeping frost on the glass halted its violent spread, melting slightly at the edges. He wasn't cured, but the immediate crisis of his freezing terror was contained.

A heavy thud against the exterior of the iron door made us both flinch.

Through the narrow, barred viewing grate, a familiar silhouette blocked the moonlight. Darren. He had tracked our scent before the silver powder fully compromised his guards. He stood on the other side of the heavy metal barrier, his silver badge gleaming.

"Eline," Darren's voice was muffled but unmistakable, devoid of the warmth I had relied on for a year. "The sector lockdown is officially in effect. There is no way out."

I stepped up to the grate, my heart hardening as I looked at the man who had promised us a family just hours ago. "You lied to us. You deleted the registry and left us to die."

"I am protecting you the only way I can," Darren replied flatly, his eyes avoiding mine. "But I will not open this door. Give me the boy. Let them test him, and I can assure your personal safety."

"My safety?" I spat the words, the betrayal burning away the last of my shock. "He's a child, Darren. You promised to protect him."

"The Council's orders are absolute," he said coldly. He didn't even reach for the heavy keys on his belt. The man I loved was gone, replaced entirely by the Council's Gatekeeper. "I'll give you ten minutes to surrender peacefully." With that, he turned and walked away into the snow, leaving us trapped in the containment zone.

I stared at the heavy iron door, my fists clenched. Pinned to the exterior frame, right beside the viewing grate, was a freshly issued lockdown notice. Through the bars, I could clearly see the glowing red insignia stamped at the bottom of the parchment. It wasn't the standard guard emblem—it was the Night Seal of the Council Archives.

My pulse jumped. The Archives were operating under night protocols to process the day's edicts. That meant the building was active, its vaults unlocked for sorting. The original, physical blood pact we had signed—the only indisputable proof of my guardianship and Darren's perjury—was sitting in that building right now.

I looked back at Finn, who was still clutching the crushed sage leaves. I wasn't going to sit in this freezing greenhouse and wait for ten minutes to expire. I wasn't going to beg a traitor for mercy, and I certainly wasn't going to hand my boy over to the testing chambers.

"We're not waiting for them," I told Finn, pulling him to his feet and tightening his scarf. "We're going to the Archives."

Before Finn could nod, a deafening crash shook the greenhouse. Heavy claws scraped violently across the frosted glass roof high above us. The thick panes groaned under a massive weight, and a shower of broken glass rained down onto the stone floor. The wolf riders had landed.