Survival would take more than running. It would take trust—the hardest thing for two people who had been taught to see the other as the reason for their ruin.
They had been each other’s phantom accuser—names on a false document, forged by a magistrate who needed two scapegoats. The fates that had condemned them separately had just forced them to crawl through the same narrow dark. They didn’t part ways at the river. They didn’t draw knives. tunnel escape fates entwined
Liera had slipped into the crawlspace through a gap in the cistern drain, her wrists raw from iron. She said nothing when she found him. She just took the spoon, turned it around, and dug. Survival would take more than running
Until now.