Chapter 2The Weight of Blood

Darian's hand clamped around Renna's wrist, yanking her deeper into the forest. Behind them, the hounds' baying split the twilight—closer now, hungry and certain.

"Don't stop," he said, not looking back.

She didn't. Her boots slipped on wet leaves, and she caught herself on a trunk, bark scraping her palm. The mark on her wrist throbbed beneath the sting.

"Where are we going?"

"Safe house. Half a mile north."

"Safe for who?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he veered sharply, dragging her down a slope so steep her feet lost purchase. She slid, rocks cutting into her legs, and landed hard at the bottom of a narrow ravine. Darian landed beside her, silent as a shadow.

He pressed a finger to his lips.

Above them, the hounds crashed through the underbrush. One stopped at the edge of the ravine. Renna held her breath, her heart hammering against her ribs. The hound sniffed the air, then turned, following the scent Darian had cleverly laid down the opposite slope.

The baying faded.

Darian let out a slow breath. "We have to move. They'll circle back."

Renna pushed herself up, her palms raw. "Who taught you that? Tracking like that doesn't come from books."

He didn't meet her eyes. "I learned from people who had to survive."

It wasn't an answer, but she didn't push. Not yet.

They climbed out of the ravine and crossed a narrow stream. On the other side, a dilapidated cabin hunched among the trees, its windows dark. Darian approached with careful steps, tapping a pattern on the door.

A pause. Then the door creaked open.

The man inside was lean, with a scar cutting through his left eyebrow and a soulforged dagger already in his hand. His eyes landed on Renna and hardened.

"Who's the hunter?"

"She's with me," Darian said. "She needs shelter."

The man—Kael—stepped closer, circling Renna like a wolf sizing up prey. His gaze lingered on her wrists, then on the way she stood, feet apart, ready to fight—a stance drilled into her by the Order.

"She's one of *them*." Kael's voice dropped. "You bring an Unbroken dog to my door?"

"She's the one I told you about," Darian said quietly. "The one who helped me escape."

Kael's jaw tightened. "I know who she is. I know what she carries." He turned to Renna fully. "The First Betrayer's blood runs in your veins. Do you even understand what that means?"

Renna's throat tightened. "I know what Darian told me."

"Then you know your father is the reason we're all hunted." Kael's hand moved to his belt, where a second soulforge hung—a chain of iron links, dark and heavy. "He sold us out, centuries ago. Made a deal with the Order to save his own skin, and left the rest of us to burn."

"That's not—" Darian started.

"Don't." Kael's voice cracked like a whip. "You weren't there. None of us were. But we remember the stories. *Every* anomaly remembers."

Renna opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, a horn split the night.

Kael's face went pale. "They found us."

The cabin exploded into motion. Rebels—four of them, hidden in the shadows—grabbed weapons and took positions by the windows. Kael shoved a soulforged crossbow into Renna's hands.

"You know how to use this?"

"Yes."

"Then don't waste bolts."

She didn't have time to think. The first soldier crashed through the door, his soulforge—a hammer wreathed in flame—swinging toward Kael's head.

Renna moved. Her body remembered what her mind couldn't process. She ducked under the swing, fired the crossbow into the soldier's thigh, and rolled to the side. He fell, and Darian finished him with a precise thrust to the throat.

But more poured in.

The cabin became chaos—shouts, sparks, the smell of iron and blood. Renna fought beside Darian, her crossbow empty, relying on a knife she'd taken from a fallen rebel. She was fast, trained, but every soldier she killed felt like a piece of her old self dying.

Then she saw it.

A young rebel—barely older than her—stumbled backward, his hands raised. A soldier lunged, his soulforge blade aimed at the rebel's chest. The blade pierced through, and the rebel fell, his body hitting the ground with a hollow thud.

Something broke inside Renna.

Or maybe something *opened*.

She felt a pull—deep in her chest, like a thread tied to her soul. The fallen rebel's soulforge, a blade of pale light, flickered beside his hand. She didn't reach for it consciously. Her hand moved, and the power *flowed*.

The blade rose, glowing brighter, and slammed into her palm.

Light exploded from her hand. The soldiers turned, and she saw their faces—fear, shock, recognition. She swung. The blade cut through three soldiers in a single arc, their soulforges shattering as they fell.

Silence.

The cabin was still, smoke curling from broken windows. The surviving rebels stared at her, their faces pale.

Renna looked down at her hands. The blade was gone, but her fingers still glowed—soft, golden, wrong.

Kael stepped forward, his dagger drawn. His face was unreadable, but his voice shook.

"You're not one of us." He pointed the blade at her chest. "You're the weapon they made to destroy us."

Darian moved between them. "Kael, stop."

"She absorbed his soulforge." Kael's voice rose. "She *took* it. That's not anomaly power. That's something else. Something worse."

Renna's hands trembled. The glow faded, but the weight of what she'd done pressed down on her chest. She didn't know how she'd done it. She didn't know if she could stop.

"The Order's outside," she said, her voice steady despite everything. "If you want to survive, you need me."

Kael's eyes narrowed. The cabin's other rebels shifted, uncertain, their weapons half-raised.

Then the horns sounded again—closer this time.

Kael's gaze met Renna's. For a moment, she saw something flicker in his eyes. Fear. Not of the Order. Of her.

"You're a threat," he said slowly. "But you're also a weapon. And right now, I'd rather point you at the enemy than have you pointed at me."

He lowered his dagger.

"Don't make me regret this."

Renna nodded, but as she looked down at her hands, she saw something she hadn't noticed before.

Her eyes—reflected in the blade of a fallen soldier—were no longer her own.

They glowed with a black sun, burning at the edges of her vision.

And she didn't know how to make it stop.