Perfidy didn’t try to move, knowing full well she couldn’t even if she tried. Whatever spark of strength she’d tapped into to grab his ankle had winked out. And yet still she wasn’t afraid.

Because Cainan wasn’t her only friend. And she’d seen her other friend creeping along the wall, melting into the shadows as though they were a part of him, something he wore like a second skin. It wasn’t his Ability exactly, but a natural talent he’d cultivated over his brief years of learning to survive on his own. One might call his very existence a Miracle with an uppercase M.

And though Perfidy had never actually seen the boy use his Ability, nor did anyone seem to know what it was, she trusted him implicitly.

A trust that was validated in this moment, when Mirac’s arm darted from the shadows, lifted high to catch a blade of moonslight, which in turn cast a blade of shadow across the prison’s yard. A blade that was now given substance, its edge as sharp as any sword made of steel, its slash as brutal as any weapon raised in battle.

With a chopping motion, Mirac brought the blade formed of shadow down onto the demon’s back.

The demon’s spine arched, a hiss leaking from his lips. His mouth opened in horror as he twisted his neck to take in the damage to his right wing, but then his eyes flashed to the shadow that had cut him, a shadow that Mirac now raised once more, preparing its next blow.

The demon dove away, the shadow narrowly missing its mark, gouging a deep mark in the stonework. The demon rolled, fighting back to his feet, getting a running start and then leaping skyward, one powerful wing propelling him higher, his flight rendered awkward by the opposite wing, badly damaged as it tried to pump but only managed a ragged thrashing motion.

Somehow he managed to climb high enough to avoid the prison’s flaming wall, but didn’t gain enough height to clear the first of the trees, crashing wildly through its boughs before disappearing from sight.

Perfidy stared at the spot through which he had vanished, half-expecting to see him emerge once more, angry as void and ready to exact his revenge. But he didn’t. Finally, weak and damaged, she closed her eyes. Corinthia?

No response, just the crackle of flames and crunch of feet as Mirac, presumably, approached. “Are you alright?”

“Thanks to ye, I am.”

“I had to do it. I didn’t want to, but I had to.”

“I’m glad ye did.”

“Me too.”

“Six gold leaves, huh?” she said.

“Yup.”

Perfidy? Corinthia said in her head.

Corinthia! Are ye alright?

I think I blacked out. I’ve lost too much blood.

Can ye git up?

I think so.