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His voice is almost a whisper. “Had to try and keep something of yours safe… since I couldn’t keep you safe.”

The words twist something deep inside me. Without thinking, I stand and turn. “Put it on me.”

He freezes, then steps closer. The chain brushes my collarbone as he lowers it. His fingers shift my hair aside, careful as if I might break. His breath is hot, ragged on my neck. I swear I feel him inhale, a low sound vibrating in his throat, gone before I can name it.

The pendant settles over my heart, heavy and cold. I let my hair fall back, swallow hard. Kang’s eyes are storm-dark, stripped bare.

Neither of us speaks.

Instead, he digs into another pocket and pulls a crumpled scrap of Authority stationery. Charcoal scrawls, coordinates circled once. Nothing else.

He hands it to me. I take it, fingers numb.

I stare at it for a long time.

Finally, I say, “Is this where we are going?”

He doesn’t answer.

A coil tightens in my gut. My thoughts snag on the numbers, on the emptiness of the page. Coordinates. That’s all. No destination, no name, no map. It could be anything. A dead drop. A slaughterhouse. A trap with my name written on it in someone else’s hand.

“Is this why you disappeared for weeks?” I press, my voice sharper now.

He nods. “It’s where they told me to bring you.”

They. The word hooks under my skin. Who is they? Authority? Rebels? Something worse? My mind turns it over, searching for the missing piece, until a memory slips loose: the stolen moment in the comms room, Maven’s voice flickering through static, the dangerous thrill of knowing someone out there was listening.

The thought collides with the coordinates, and suddenly it clicks. My chest goes cold. “Maven,” I whisper, almost to myself. Then louder, sharper, I look him dead in the eye: “This is Maven, isn’t it? they sent these.”

I remember the feeling, weeks ago, that I was being shepherded, not hunted. That every move I made, Kang was already waiting at the end. I feel sick, but not surprised.

“Why?” I say, the word soft as breath.

He looks at the river, the gray sky. “Because Maven thinks you’re important. Not just to them—to the whole region. You’re supposed to have answers.”

I snort. “I can’t even remember my fucking birthday.”

He shrugs. “They think you will. And if you don’t, it’s still a chance.”

I shake my head, look at the coordinates again. They mean nothing. But the way he presses the paper into my palm, the way his hand lingers, says everything.

“You could have just handed me over,” I say.

He shakes his head, looks at me, and for a second the mask slips. “I wanted you to have a choice.”

I can’t breathe. The anger, the fear, the guilt all jam up in my throat, choke me until there’s nothing left.

He sees it. He moves close, closer than he’s ever been. His hand cupping my face, warm and alive. “You’re not a monster, Dee.”

I believe him.

He leans in, and I think he’s going to kiss me, but he doesn’t. He presses his forehead to mine, just like before, and the world shrinks to the space between our eyes.

“I should hate you,” I say.

He laughs, a sharp exhale. “You do.”

but I dont...not really.