THE UNSEEN HAND

AYLA’S POV

I should be used to this by now.

The despair

The loneliness.

Honestly, I don't even know what I hope would happen

Do I really think that this trial will end in any other way than Nadira getting what she wants?

She has the whole pack wrapped around her finger .

I am a dead man- woman -walking

I should just give in and let them kill me.

But hope … it is a difficult thing to kill

Even when I am locked up here.

The cell is damp.

Cold.

Something I am very much used to.

The stone walls seem to be closing in on me, pressing against my chest and squeezing the air from my lungs.

My hands are still raw from where the chains have dug into my wrists and my legs are cramping from sitting in the same position for hours. Or has it been days?

Time means nothing in here.

And as far as I know, they might as well have forgotten about me.

It won't be impossible or far fetched.

I stare at the tiny barred window near the ceiling where the moon is high, casting silver light onto the floor, a cruel reminder of what I should have been—what I could have been—if things had been different.

But they weren’t.

And now I’m here.

I let out a slow breath, pressing my forehead against my knees.

And that is when I hear the door creak.

My head snaps up instantly.

Nadira.

She has come to finish the job.

But then I hear the footsteps.

They are soft, controlled. Not the heavy boots of the guards, nor the domineering clicks of Nadira's heels.

Someone is trying not to be heard.

Someone unfamiliar

My heart starts to slam against my ribs as I press myself against the wall.

If Sage or Nadira are sending someone to finish me off, I won’t make it easy for them.

A shadow moves in the dim candlelight and then a hooded figure steps forward.

"Get up," a voice whispers. Male. Low. Unfamiliar.

I don’t move. "Who the hell are you?"

"No time for that. Do you want to die here, or do you want to leave?" He steps closer, and I see a glint of metal in his hand. A key.

My mind races. This could be a trick. Some sick game before they drag me into another nightmare. But if it isn’t…

Do I really have any choice?

What is the worst that could happen?

I die?

I was going to die here anyway.

I shift, slowly getting to my feet. "Why are you helping me?"

"Questions later. Move now." He crouches, unlocking the chains around my ankles first, then my wrists.

I rub my sore skin, eyes narrowing. "Who sent you?"

He exhales sharply, glancing toward the door. "You won’t believe me if I tell you."

"Try me."

A pause. Then, "Thane."

I freeze.

Thane?

It makes no sense. The same man who stood in that trial room, mocking everyone? The man who let me sit in this cell, waiting for whatever twisted punishment Nadira and Sage had planned?

What game is he playing?

Why risk this?

The stranger grabs my arm. "We need to go. Now."

Still stunned, I let him pull me forward as we slip out of the cell and into the dark hallway.

The silence unsettles me.

Where are the guards? The hall should be patrolled. Even in the dead of night, there should be at least one of them stationed near the cells.

"Where is everyone?" I whisper.

The hooded man doesn’t answer.

A bad feeling slithers through my gut. My steps slow. "Is this a trap?"

His grip tightens. "Don’t stop."

"But—"

"Move, Ayla. If you want to live, move."

I don’t like how that sounds.

We reach the back of the packhouse, slipping through a narrow passage that leads toward the outer gate.

There’s no one here either. No alarm. Nothing but the sound of my own breathing and the quiet thud of my heartbeat in my ears.

The air is sharp and cold when we step outside. The smell of pine and damp earth hits me, grounding me for a split second.

Then he shoves a bag into my hands.

I blink down at it, confusion muddling my thoughts as I peer into it. A duffel bag. A jacket. A wad of cash peeking out of one of the side pockets.

"What—?"

"Run."

I look up. The hooded man is already stepping back into the shadows. "Don’t come back, Ayla. Don’t look back."

"Wait—"

He hesitates.

“What's your name?”

“That should be the least of your concerns.”

I step closer. "Did… did Thane really send you? To save me?"

A slow nod. "Yeah."

I don’t know what to do with that. I should feel relief. Gratitude, even. But all I feel is exhaustion and confusion.

Like it still feels surreal.

Like a trap.

Why would he risk his skin to save me?

"Why?" I whisper, echoing the question in my mind.

The man tilts his head, almost like he’s asking himself the same thing, shrugs and then he turns and disappears back toward the packhouse, leaving me with all my questions.

And free.

I am really free.

I don’t waste time.

I clutch the bag, put on and tighten the jacket around me, and run.

The trees blur past me. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps. Every snap of a branch, every rustle of leaves has me glancing over my shoulder.

When I reach the ridge, something makes me pause.

A figure stands in the distance.

Tall. Still. Watching.

Even from here, I know who it is.

Thane.

My hands clench around the strap of the bag as my pulse hammers in my ears.

I don’t know why he help

ed me. I don’t know what game he’s playing.

But I do know one thing.

I’m never coming back.

“Thank you,” I whisper into the air and with one last glance, I turn and vanish into the night.