Zara's POV
"Your execution is tomorrow morning." The guard grins through the bars. "The Magistrate wants to make it special. Public hanging in the Grand Plaza. Everyone gets to watch the famous thief swing."
I don't answer. I've learned silence is safer here.
He laughs and walks away, boots echoing down the stone hallway. The moment he's gone, I let out the breath I've been holding. My hands shake. They've been shaking for three days.
Tomorrow. I have until tomorrow.
"You should eat something," says the old woman in the cell across from mine. Her name is Mara. She's been here for weeks. "Might as well enjoy your last meal."
I look at the moldy bread on my plate and push it away. My stomach is too twisted to eat.
"I keep thinking about the signs," I whisper. "All the times Davos acted strange. All the secret meetings. The way Isla would smile at me like she knew something I didn't."
"Stop torturing yourself, girl."
But I can't stop. In my head, I replay every moment. That time Davos told me to handle the dangerous jobs while he stayed back. The way he'd disappear for hours with weak excuses. How Isla always asked too many questions about our plans.
They used me. For eight years, they used me like a tool and threw me away when I wasn't useful anymore.
The worst part? I loved them. Both of them.
"I'm such an idiot," I say.
"No." Mara's voice is firm. "You trusted people you loved. That's not stupid. That's human."
A tear rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away angrily. I'm done crying for them.
Footsteps approach again. Different guards this time. Three of them stop at my cell.
"Stand up, thief," one barks. "The Magistrate wants to see you."
My heart jumps into my throat. "Why?"
"Not your business. Move."
They chain my wrists and drag me through the prison. Other prisoners watch me pass. Some look sorry for me. Others just stare with empty eyes.
The Magistrate's office is beautiful—all polished wood and expensive paintings. He sits behind a massive desk, looking at papers like I'm not even worth his attention.
"Zara Kahrim," he says without looking up. "Do you know why you're here?"
"To die for crimes I didn't commit?"
Now he looks at me. His eyes are cold. "Actually, I have a proposal. Answer my questions truthfully, and I might reduce your sentence from death to life in prison."
It's not much of an offer, but it's something. "What questions?"
"Tell me about your bloodline. Your mother's family. Where they came from."
I blink. That's not what I expected. "What? I don't know anything about my mother. She died when I was born."
"Your grandmother never told you?"
"Told me what?"
He studies me like I'm a puzzle. "Interesting. You really don't know." He leans forward. "Your mother carried very special blood. Ancient bloodlines that the kingdom has been hunting for generations. Blood that can do... impossible things with spirits."
My skin goes cold. "I don't understand."
"Of course you don't. That's what makes you so valuable." He smiles, but it's not kind. "I'll give you one more day to think about it. Tell me everything your grandmother knows about your family history, and you live. Refuse, and tomorrow you hang."
They drag me back to my cell. My mind spins with questions. Special blood? Spirits? What is he talking about?
When the guards leave, Mara whispers, "What did he want?"
"He asked about my mother. About bloodlines and spirits." I look at her. "Do you know what he means?"
Her face goes pale. "Oh, child. You don't know what you are, do you?"
"What am I?"
Before she can answer, alarm bells ring throughout the prison. Guards start shouting. Something crashes in the distance.
"What's happening?" I grab the bars.
"The fire spirit," Mara breathes, her eyes wide with fear. "They said the temple seals were weakening but I didn't believe—"
The floor shakes. Not like an earthquake. Worse. Like something massive is waking up beneath us.
Heat blasts through the hallway. Real heat, so intense I stumble backward. Prisoners start screaming.
A voice echoes from deep underground. Not human. Not anything that should be able to speak.
"Three hundred years."
The walls crack. Red light bleeds through the stones.
"Three hundred years they kept me in chains."
More crashes. The guards are running now, unlocking cells in panic. When something this dangerous wakes up, everyone dies—prisoners and guards together.
"Everyone out!" the captain yells. "Move! Move!"
My cell door swings open. I stand there, frozen. This is my chance to escape.
But then I hear her.
"Zara! Don't leave me!"
Lyra. My sister. She's here. In the prison. In the next cell.
No. No no no. They arrested her? She's only seventeen!
"Zara, please!" Her voice breaks with tears.
The guard captain runs past me. I grab his arm. "Open her cell! That's my sister!"
"Get off!" He shoves me hard.
The floor splits open. Blue-white flames erupt from the crack—flames that don't burn like normal fire. They hover in the air, alive and angry.
Through the flames, I see a shape forming. Getting bigger. Coming closer.
The guard sees it too. His face turns white as paper. He drops his keys and runs like death itself is chasing him.
Maybe it is.
I grab the keys from the floor and unlock Lyra's cell. She crashes into my arms, sobbing. She's so thin. They haven't been feeding her.
"We have to go," I tell her. "Right now."
We run with the crowd. Smoke fills the hallways. More prisoners break free. Behind us, that voice speaks again. Closer now.
"Three hundred years. Three hundred years they kept me in chains."
The wall beside us explodes.
Flames pour through the hole like a living creature. They circle around us, blocking our escape. The heat should kill us instantly, but it doesn't. The fire just watches us. Waiting.
"Zara." Lyra grips my hand so tight it hurts. "What's happening?"
"I don't know."
The flames part like a curtain.
And through them walks a man who isn't a man at all.