Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop, Feyla repeated to herself. The words were a mantra that made her feet fly and her mind push back the expression on Sedgewick's face.

Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop. Don't think about that cold, coppery glare he'd had right when he'd reached the steps. A glare that said the world had become a problem to be dissected and blasted apart as long as it separated the two of them. Four more flights of stairs.

Don't stop, don't stop. Don't think about the way he'd clung to her when she'd reached him, the way his arms had refused to let go even as they were falling. Three more flights.

Don't stop. Don't think about the way his heart had leapt to his eyes and crumbled in front of her like she'd swept away his foundation and abandoned him adrift and alone. Two more flights.

Don't think, don't stop, she repeated, the final flights blurring in her sight and in her mind. The handrail she held shook and the crack of wood reverberated just ahead. Feyla reached the top floor of the old inn just in time to catch Desden climbing out a formerly boarded window at the end of the hall. She rushed down the hall, her white healer's cloak flapping against the doorframes of old, forgotten rooms now nothing but ghosts of life and memories.

Blood pounded against her ears. Her feet flew. She leaped up onto the windowsill, finally succeeding in blocking out everything but her mission and the movement of her own body. The hook that had given her difficulty earlier now slipped into and flew out of her hand like an extra limb.

It caught on the edge of the roof. Feyla clambered up after it, Desden's dirty black cloak now swinging above her. He climbed up the building like it was a favorite childhood tree, finding handholds that blurred in front of Feyla. The young wizard grinned at her, a broken, child-like grin that stood out all the sharper next to the desperation peaking through the red flecks in his dark brown eyes. "You should've helped me. Now you'll have to fix yourself as well." He reached for her hook.

Feyla scrambled up the rope, her throat clenching tighter than her hands were. Another magic blast shook the building, sending her feet swinging wildly. The sound came from the side to her right.

Desden turned away from her in the wake of the blast. Feyla finally made it to the edge of the roof and flung herself over the side. She rolled out of the way of Desden's incoming blast and sunk into a crouch. "What did you mean about 'fixing' everyone?" she asked. They circled each other, but Feyla's attention drifted to the edge of the roof where she expected Sedgewick to pop up at any moment. "Look, the mages will kill you. Just come with me and we can work something out together. You don't need to—"

"'The mages'?" Desden asked. "You always keep a distance from the man you're wanting to marry?"

Feyla lashed out. She aimed strike after strike at the wizard in a mad blur. Desden blocked them with surprising skill, almost like he'd seen her moves before. Magic surge to his hand. Feyla grabbed it and bent back on the hand, sending the blast wild. Desden latched onto her hair with the other hand and jerked her back against him, trapping her in a hold. "The woman with you. She was with that Jaerick in your memories. He's in the city, isn't he?"

Feyla slammed an elbow into his gut. Desden let out a grunt, and his grip on her slacked. She pulled herself away before sinking back into proper form. "You're not getting any help from me."

Desden craned down at her, rubbing his still-aching hand. "You still don't get how much I could give." He summoned another spell. "Or how much I could take. Wonder...did that mage of yours realize you left him?"

"I didn't leave him." Her voice came out a harsh, broken whisper.

"You didn't want him to kill me. Why? Afraid your mother won't let you marry a killer? That's a little hypocritical seeing she has a daughter for one." He took a step closer and kept his voice even. "I could fix that too."

The sensation of being peeled, laid bare and exposed slammed into Feyla and knocked her protest out with her breath. A sick coldness slithered through her gut. "You don't know me," she lied.

Desden's attention strayed past her. She glanced over her shoulder just in time to catch an orange light rising above the side of the building, with Sedgewick's hat emerging behind it. The sun had set now and the glow of his magic cast his long, sharp shadow across the broken clay roof tiles. No sooner had Sedgewick's feet hit the roof than a hook just like her own latched onto the edge and Daydrel followed up after it.

Desden's eyes jumped between the three of them. His shoulders hunched and he swayed lightly on his feet, reminding Feyla of a dark-feathered bird about to leap into flight.

"Don't make this any more painful than it has to be." Sedgewick pulled his staff from his back and sent his magic rushing through it. He spared Feyla only a glance. She didn't need any longer to see that his anger was burning brighter than his magic.

Sedgewick's attention abandoned her. He stepped forward. Every movement of a muscle and twitch of a finger radiated with single-minded focus. The healers, the other mages, even Feyla herself has ceased to exist as his world narrowed to him, his magic, and his prey. He spoke again, and Feyla's chest went cold at how different he sounded compared to when he spoke to her. "I'm not a patient person. I'm not a particularly nice one either, and I become even less so when people attempt to mess with my head. Now drop the staff before I blast a hole in your chest and spill out enough of your innards to fill my hat."

"Should've refilled the discs again," Desden muttered to himself.

"Oh, that's not the only mistake you made." Sedgewick swung his staff forward. Magic blasted out in a destructive ball. It shattered Desden's ward, scattering sparks of orange magic remnants that curled like smoke. Desden stumbled back. His breath came out sharp and haggard like he'd been hit with a war hammer.

Then he lashed out in truth.

Black magic coiled down his staff and twisted into spells. Feyla shivered, her hand reaching for her throat at the remembrance of the coils from Desden's memory spell. She shook the fear away in time for another cracking pulse to pierce her ears as another one of Sedgewick's spells crumbled Desden's ward. Feyla leapt into action. She circled around the two magic users, aiming to get behind Desden's back while he was distracted.

Daydrel had the same idea. He met Feyla on the other side of the roof, an excited smirk on his lips. "Great minds do think alike. Ready?"

Feyla grimaced. "Sedgewick's doing the hard part." Not that it felt hard to him. It didn't take a mage to see that Desden was losing—and fast.

"We need to hurry," Daydrel insisted, realizing the same thing she had. The mages were about to beat them.

Maybe you should just let them, a part of her thought.

It would solve at least one of her problems. Sedgewick couldn't be that mad at her if she swapped sides now. A quick tug of Daydrel to the ground and at least one part of her increasingly messy life would be fixed. But the rest of it?

Delia would be heartbroken and Mother? Mother would be furious. Feyla would have confirmed everything Arilla believed about her.

It's too late to stop now. Feyla curled her hands into fists and nodded at Daydrel. "I need another boost."

Daydrel rolled his shoulders and the two broke into a run. Sedgewick had forced Desden back and Feyla could see the young wizard's staff shaking from exertion. Sedgewick swung his staff back, the runes of a new spell curling around the essantium crystal at the top.

Daydrel dropped to a kneel. Feyla's hood flew off the top of her head but the pins she'd borrow from her mother stayed in place. She jumped off of Daydrel, every muscle in her stretched and taut, ready to strike at the inevitable landing.

Sedgewick noticed her first. His spell wavered with his concentration. The moment it did, Desden whipped his staff around in anticipation of her jump.

The staff hit her with a crack, slamming her into the roof tiles. A sharp piece of broken clay tile cut into her leg, sending a burning pain up it.

"Did you really think I'd fall for that after watching you use it your whole life?" Desden sneered.

Feyla clutched the wound on her leg. She tried to stand but Desden summoned another spell to his staff and held it next to her face. The runes inside the spell seemed backward and distorted and the air next to the spell felt deathly cold like the surrounding heat had been absorbed into it.

"Step away from the woman, wizard."

Feyla tore her attention away from the sliver of death near her face long enough to notice Sedgewick and Daydrel just past it. The spell Sedgewick had flubbed now spun on the top of his staff like a notched arrow. She recognized a few of the runes swirling in it and none of them did pleasant things. Daydrel had crept closer and Feyla could see him calculating the distance between him and Desden compared to the distance from the spell to Feyla's face.

"Don't think I will. You might want to back up yourself. Be a shame if I had to hurt your betrothed."

Desden's threat earned him one short, sharp burst of confusion across Sedgewick's face. "How do you know that?" his eyes seemed to ask.

Assured that Sedgewick wasn't going to blast him anyway, Desden turned his attention to Daydrel. "Where's Jaerick? Tell me and I might let your former flame keep flickering."

"Jaerick...Halderson?"

Desden growled, his hair bristling like feathers. "I don't care who sired him, just tell me where he is!"

Sedgewick mouthed a word, a name, Tyrinn, and Feyla understood instantly. Last time someone had threatened to blast her, she'd been able to trip him and give Sedgewick an opening.

Desden's toe tapped against the roof from a staff-length away, much farther than Tyrinn had been. She shook her head no, and Desden moved the spell closer in response. Did he remember seeing that as well?

Sedgewick snarled. "Hellgates take it, tell the man already!" he shouted, looking like an odd mix of a dying man and a murderous one.

Daydrel swallowed. Feyla pleaded silently but received only a sharp, negative jerk of his chin in answer. "He's at the Healer's Guild house. It's in the Old Town district."

"I told you I'd get what I need, Feyla." Desden's voice sounded soft and fluttery. He said her name like someone who'd know her much longer. "And in a convenient spot too."

The ghost of the spell drifted across her cheek. Feyla's eyes squeezed shut, waiting for that flash that would mean her life had ended. She flung herself flat despite her doubts that it would help. The buzz of heat and magic vibrated into her ears and across her skin. The boom of blasts—two or three?—sent her ears cringing back. Light broke through the cracks of her closed eyes.

Then everything went black.

**************************

Author's Note: Okay, I just want to say that I didn't intend to end on a cliffhanger but it just worked out so well! Picked a song (Death Valley) instead of a picture again because Fall Out Boy is honestly like half of my writing playlist.

Is Desden trying to kill Feyla? What do you think of Desden's new familiarity? Do you think Daydrel was right to confess where Jaerick was? Should the author keep her music choices to herself? Let me know in the comments!