Anji unclipped the canteen from the Hawk’s belt and took an icy pull, wincing at the cold biting her teeth. Water wouldn’t satiate her much longer. Her stomach had become a tight knot of hunger like she hadn’t known in years. She needed to get outside, to find that stupid blue bag. Apart from the scant food they still had, it also held her dagger, her coin, and of course, the antidote she needed. But going outside alone meant the possibility of coming across another Scorphice, or more constables … or another Sun Warden. She glanced at the scabbards still tied to the Hawk’s belt.

“You’ll die,” said the Hawk, following her gaze. Anji nearly laughed at the woman’s unflappable vigilance. The Hawk took her laugh for confidence and lifted herself up with a glare so hard Anji’s heart fluttered. Comedown or no, the woman still scared her. “You’ve got another few hours,” she said, her eyes like augers, “before that poison goes to work, and with no clue how to get the bag open. I’m—” She hacked a cough, so loud it reverberated off the structure’s walls. “I’m all you’ve got,” she rasped, then settled back to the floor. “I’m all you’ve got.” But her eyes closed again, wrinkles standing out stark on her soaking skin. Then she yelled, a throaty cry of frustration and pain, of pure torment.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Anji, and to her surprise, the words weren’t entirely a lie. True, she’d yearned for the Hawk’s death dozens of times since she’d met her out on the plains, pictured it as she’d slept, woke with the desire in the morning. But something had nestled next to that desire, something she couldn’t name. Whatever her faults, the Hawk had saved her life more than once already. Anji wouldn’t kill the woman in her sleep. She owed her that much.