Ryven, who had been silently assessing the situation, suddenly moved. "Take him, Arin! Run!" He launched himself at the nearest guard, his blade a blur, buying them precious seconds. The clash of steel was sharp, echoing off the damp stone walls. He was a whirlwind of precision, each strike calculated to maim or kill.
"Run, little bird, run!" Vaeren called out, his voice mockingly sweet, carrying easily over the din of battle. "It's what you do best, isn't it? Scramble through the shadows. Like a rat." His casual cruelty grated on her nerves, sharper than any blade.
Arin didn't run. Not yet. Her mind raced, a frantic hummingbird beating against the cage of her skull. Vaeren was talking. He was playing. That meant he wanted something more than a swift kill. He wanted to savor it. To draw out their suffering.
