Silver glints in the dying sunlight.

I drink in a flash of blue eyes, quenching my thirst.

Her freckles like the sand surrounding us.

A silver dagger, sharp as her tongue, flipping between swift fingers.

It’s her.

There she is. Just standing there. Watching me like I’m no more than a stranger she’s sizing up. Like I’m worth nothing more than the coins she’s preparing to steal from my pocket.

Like I’m not the man who ruined her life. Like she’s not guilty of doing the same to me.

She strides toward me, the sight so familiar that I find myself fighting a habitual smile, the muscle memory yet another memento of her. Something aches when she finally stands before me, her hands tucked behind her back. I absentmindedly rub a hand above my heart as I look her over, feeling a trickle of urgency for reasons I can’t place.

I shake my head in a futile attempt to clear it.

I was supposed to do something. What was I supposed to do with—

Her lips split into a smile, her eyes roaming over my face.

There goes the ache in my chest, feeling like a blunt knife.

“Hello, Prince.”

Her voice is silky, soothing in a way that sends shivers down my spine. “I have a gift for you,” she says smoothly, smiling sweetly. “Something to remember me by.”

She pulls her hands from behind her back, presenting them to me. Her fingers are fisted around a drooping bundle of dull, blue flowers.

Forget-me-nots.

I start to smile, but the emotion snags on my lips. My gaze drops to the fist of flowers—the same ones given to her on our final night together in the rain. And then I’m suddenly staggering back at what I see, clutching my chest and the pounding pain there.

“What is it?” she asks, far too innocently. “What’s wrong, Malakai?”

I gasp, gaping at the sticky blood now drenching her hands, dripping down her arms. Each flower stem is stained a sickening red, dulling its vibrance, wilting in her palm.

“You…,” I stutter, shaking my head at her. “His blood. That’s his blood, isn’t it?”

The look on her face mirrors mine, shocked and sketched with hurt. “I did what I had to. I do what I have to.” Her gaze hardens, as does her resolve. She steps toward me, dropping whatever flowers aren’t sticking to her bloody hands as she reaches for my face. I jerk away, practically tripping over my feet in my attempt to escape her touch.

“What have you done?” My voice cracks. “Look what you did. What you are making me do.”

I suddenly identify the ache emanating from my chest.

It’s my heart.

That’s when I remember what it is I must do with her.

“What have you done, Enforcer?” Her voice trembles, bitter and biting. “So it’s okay when you kill? Hmm?” She takes a step toward me, but I hold my ground. “You have just as much blood on your hands, Kai. The difference between us is that you refuse to see it.”

I’m shaking my head, beginning to back away again.

“Oh, you don’t believe me?” She’s practically laughing, finding this amusing. “You’re covered in it.”

I look down, raising red hands from my sides. My breath comes in fast pants as my eyes sweep over my body.

I’m dripping in death.

Blood clings to my hair, pools in my boots, coats my teeth. I’m spitting, sputtering, spiraling as I stagger backward. “No, no, no…”

“Go ahead,” she challenges, her voice quiet. “Spill my blood and wear it with the rest.”

I scream.

My eyes fly open.

I’m blinking blindly at the inky sky above, sand shifting beneath my back. My heart pounds as I scan the makeshift camp, eyes adjusting to the darkness. A dozen dozing Imperials litter the desert ground, all scattered around the dying fire.

My throat is raw.

Had I been screaming?

If I woke any of my men, they’re smart enough to act as though I hadn’t. I sit up slowly, my back aching from nights spent on uneven sand and days sitting atop stiff saddles. Dirt-streaked hair tickles my forehead, and I run my fingers through it before warming them beside the fire.

I’ve been in this damn desert for four days now.

And not a single trace of her anywhere.

Well, no physical trace of her anywhere.

And yet, I see her everywhere. She haunts me. Half the time I’m wondering whether she’s already dead, whether the desert has claimed another, swallowed her whole and spit her out as a phantom to ensure my suffering.

No one else glimpses the gleam of silver hair in the sunlight, or the outline of her figure atop a dune.

Because no one else is going insane.

I’m losing my mind, feeling lost in this desert despite knowing we’ll reach Dor before tomorrow’s sunrise. We’ll scout out the city first, and if we find nothing, we’ll head toward Tando to continue our search.

She can’t have made it to a city yet.

Right?

Despite my denial, I’ve seen what she is capable of. Seen how she can survive; heard how she has survived her whole life. I doubt even the desert is a strong enough force to take her from this world before she’s ready. The Scorches will soon learn of her stubbornness.

I raise my head from the remaining glowing embers of the fire, fixing my gaze on the shifting sky above. Dawn dances along the horizon, creeping up on the clouds to cast them in faint, golden light. My eyes shift to the slumbering men surrounding me, their snores the only sound filling this corner of the desert.

Sighing, I stand to my feet, stretching my sore limbs. “Up. Now.” My command echoes, stirring even the desert horses tied several feet from our makeshift camp. I’m greeted with groggy grumblings as I begin pacing the messy circle of Imperials. “Good morning,” I say lightly, though the toe of my boot nudging them in the ribs is anything but.

At that, they don’t hesitate to obey my demands. The disheveled bunch is up and milling about in a matter of minutes, some tending to the horses while others round up our scattered supplies. We’re gnawing on stringy, dried rabbit and sipping warm water before mounting our horses and setting off at a steady pace.

The rabbit rations have me swooshing sandy water around my mouth. It’s not just the taste I’m attempting to erase, but also the memory that accompanies it. I distantly wonder if I twisted my mouth as I ate it, just as I had in the Trials when she watched me close enough to notice.

It’s dangerous, how much I think of her. How much everything reminds me of her. How much I wonder if everything was a game to her, a ploy to help the Resistance. To help the Ordinaries overthrow the kingdom. To kill the king. To kill my father.

Do I really care that she killed him?

I shake away the thought, shifting in the saddle and rolling my tense shoulders.

I’ll find out soon enough. Find her soon enough.

And when I do, I’ll get my answers.