Chapter 15The Stone’s Compass

The words left her mouth before Rissa understood what she was doing, pulled from the journal's pages like a forgotten prayer.

*“Ithiran ka’veth, morath teth.”*

The air changed. The blue veins in the stone walls pulsed once, twice—then *drank*.

Lorna shrieked, her body convulsing as blue light erupted beneath her skin, tracing rivers of fire along her arms and neck. The enforcers crumpled beside her, their claws retracting as they hit the ground, mouths open in silent screams. The Moonstone's hunger surged through the chamber, and Rissa felt it too—a tug deep in her chest, where the fragment pulsed, feeding on the same energy she'd just unleashed.

Time slowed. She saw Lorna's eyes widen in confusion, her body locking up as the stone drained her strength into the ground. In that gap, Rissa moved.

She drove her shoulder into Lorna's sternum, sending the older woman crashing against the stone door. Lorna's head snapped back, her eyes rolling, and she slid to the floor, unconscious.

The enforcers were stirring, pushing themselves up with trembling arms. Rissa didn't wait. She grabbed the journal, shoved it into her coat, and dove through the side tunnel—the one the carvings had called the *spirit path*, barely wide enough for her shoulders.

Behind her, someone screamed. Not in pain. In rage.

She ran.

---

The tunnel twisted and split, branching into darkness. Rissa followed the pull in her chest, the fragment humming like a second heartbeat, guiding her toward—

*Toward what?*

She rounded a corner and nearly tripped over a body.

Dorian lay slumped against the wall, one hand pressed to his side, his face pale. Blood pooled beneath him, black in the dim light. His eyes fluttered open as she dropped to her knees beside him.

“You're alive,” he whispered. It wasn't a question.

“So are you. Stay with me.” She tore a strip from her shirt, pressed it against the gash in his side. He hissed through his teeth. “How bad?”

“I've had worse.” He tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. “Heard you scream. Couldn't get to you. Then the tunnels shook, and I blacked out.”

“The Moonstone.” Rissa helped him sit up, ignoring the way her chest ached with every movement. “I found the journal. There's a way to destroy it—a ritual. But it requires pack blood. Willingly given.”

Dorian's eyes focused on her face. Something flickered there—fear, maybe. “Rissa. Look at me.”

She looked.

“Your eyes,” he said. “They're glowing. Blue.”

Her hand flew to her face, touching her cheekbone as if she could feel the light. The fragment in her chest pulsed in response, and suddenly she understood. The pull she'd been following. The way she'd found Dorian so easily.

*It's not guiding me. It's revealing me.*

“You've been leading him straight to us,” Dorian said, his voice hollow. “Every step you take, the stone tells Vance exactly where you are.”

Guilt crashed over her, cold and sharp. Every close call, every ambush—it was her fault, the fragment broadcasting her location like a beacon. She wanted to scream, but no sound came.

“I didn't know,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper.

“I know.” Dorian grabbed her hand, squeezing hard. “But now we do. And we need to figure out how to get that thing out of you before he catches up.”

---

They found a small cavern tucked behind a rockfall, the entrance narrow enough that Dorian had to squeeze through. Rissa collapsed against the wall, the journal open in her lap, scanning the faded ink for anything she'd missed.

“There's no other method,” she said, her voice flat. “The founder tried everything. Cutting it out didn't work. Poison didn't work. The only way to remove a fragment is to shatter the source. And that requires pack blood.”

Dorian pressed a fresh cloth to his wound, wincing. “Lorna.”

“She's unconscious. And even if she weren't, she tried to kill me. I don't think she's going to volunteer.”

“She might not have a choice.” Dorian's eyes were distant, calculating. “If we can get her to the compound, use her blood for the ritual—”

“That's not *willingly given*. The journal says the blood must be offered freely. Coerced sacrifice won't work.”

Dorian slammed his fist against the wall. Dust rained down. “Then we're trapped. We have no allies, no way to remove the fragment, and Vance is tracking you like a bloodhound.”

A howl echoed through the tunnels, distant but closing. Rissa felt it resonate in her chest, the fragment humming in harmony with the sound.

*He's calling you.*

She closed the journal. Her hands were shaking.

“There's one more thing,” she said. “The fragment isn't just tracking me. I can feel him. His anger. His hunger. It's like he's inside my head, whispering.”

Dorian's face went pale. “He's influencing you?”

“Not yet. But I can feel him trying. Pushing against the edges of my mind.” She looked up, meeting his eyes. “I don't know how long I can hold him out.”

Another howl, closer this time.

Dorian pushed himself to his feet, swaying. “Then we need to move. Find somewhere he can't follow.”

Rissa stood, but her legs felt heavy, the pull in her chest growing stronger. She could picture the compound now—the Moonstone chamber, the carved walls, the altar where the founder had spilled his blood.

*Come home*, the stone seemed to whisper. *It's easier here. No more running.*

She shook her head, hard. “Dorian. He's coming. Right now. I can feel him—he's in the tunnels, maybe a mile away.”

Dorian grabbed her arm, his grip fierce. “Then we go deeper. The old mines run for miles. There has to be a way out.”

They stumbled into the darkness, the journal clutched against Rissa's chest, the fragment burning like a star beneath her skin. The howls grew louder, closer, until they seemed to come from everywhere at once.

And then Rissa felt it—a sharp, violent *pull* that yanked her to a halt. She gasped, her hand flying to her chest. The fragment was *moving*, shifting beneath her skin, and she could feel Vance's presence like a blade pressed against her throat.

“He found us,” she breathed.

Dorian turned, his face a mask of dread. “How close?”

Before she could answer, a howl erupted from the tunnel ahead—not behind them, but *in front*. The sound echoed off the walls, distorted and inhuman, and Rissa knew, with sickening certainty, that Vance had cut them off.

He wasn't chasing her.

He was herding her.

The stone in her chest pulsed, and she heard his voice, clear as a bell, inside her skull.

*You can't run from me, Rissa. You carry my mark. You carry my stone. You're already home.*