The night was heavy with mist, the forest thick and silent except for the sound of rushing waves far below the cliffs. Abby’s throat burned against the noose biting into her skin, her feet trembling on the unstable bucket. Every breath came shallow, the rope’s promise of death tightening with every twitch.

Emily’s voice droned like venom in the dark, reciting prayers to the Prophet. The torchlight flickered against her sharp features as she raised the blade meant to split Abby open.

“Your death will cleanse the rot,” Emily declared.

Abby’s chest heaved. She wasn’t afraid of pain—she’d lived with it—but she hated that her story might end like this, nameless, meaningless, hanging like an animal.

But before the knife could descend, a commotion stirred behind the torchbearers. They dragged forward a small figure—Yara, her face bloodied, eyes burning with defiance.

“The other apostate,” Emily hissed.

“Go to hell,” Yara spat, the words like fire.

Emily’s lips curled, her patience vanishing. “Break her.”

The hammer fell. Yara screamed as bone splintered, the sound echoing through the trees. Abby thrashed against her rope, fury flooding her veins as helplessness consumed her.

Then—an arrow whistled from the treeline. Lev. His small hands trembling, his determination fierce. Another arrow loosed, grazing a Seraphite’s arm before a club swung back and sent Lev sprawling into the dirt.

Emily raised her blade again. “Finish it!”

The night shattered.

Gunfire split the silence, loud and sharp. A Seraphite dropped with a hole in his chest, then another fell in the chaos. A figure burst through the treeline, movements quick and merciless.

Ellie.

Her eyes burned with a fury Abby had never seen—not even in the theater, not even when Joel fell. She moved like a storm, her knife flashing, her pistol roaring. One by one the Seraphites dropped, torches scattering, shadows breaking into the trees.

Ellie was on Emily before the zealot could lift her blade. Their struggle ended with Ellie’s knife sinking deep into Emily’s throat, silencing her prayers forever.

The clearing fell quiet but for ragged breaths.

Ellie spun, rushing first to Lev, pulling him upright, whispering reassurance as she checked his wounds. Then she turned to Yara, grimacing at the sight of her broken arm.

Finally, Ellie’s eyes locked on Abby.

Her hands shook as she rushed forward, cutting the rope. Abby collapsed into her arms, coughing, her skin raw and red where the rope had burned. For a moment neither spoke, just clung to each other, the weight of death pressing heavy around them.

“You came…” Abby rasped, her voice barely a whisper her vision blurred—not from pain, but from tears she hadn’t let herself shed in years. Her body trembled, but Ellie’s arms anchored her, held her like she was something worth saving.

Lev and Yara huddled nearby, watching silently, but Abby only saw Ellie—the girl she had once thought an enemy, now the only reason she was breathing.