Her lips thinned.

“Here,” she said, her accent carrying a low rumble. Rook had to listen closely to understand her completely. She motioned to someone in the hall. “I don’t detect any traps or magic.”

That didn’t sound like something Thruin or Corruption’s lackeys would say. An inkling of hope rose in Rook. A kobold? Despite her human appearance—at least compared to a goblin—his instincts screamed predator, but they were too drained to offer anything more specific.

A similarly dressed man loped into the room. Despite his shorter cut hair, Rook thought the two might be siblings; twins, even. The man's excited smile revealed sharp teeth.

“Hello, young one!” he said, approaching Rook amiably.

Rook shrunk down warily. A strange, aura-like luminescence in the man’s eyes was wavering in and out of sight.

The man crouched down in front of Rook. “Do you understand us?”

“Quickly Vaughon,” the woman urged. “Save civility for later.”

She slipped silently out of the room.

“Ready for some fresh air?” Vaughon persisted.

He held out two fingers and hooked them on the chain, raising Rook’s shackled wrists with it. He turned the metal this way and that in inspection. The rims rubbed Rook’s sores, so Rook bit his cheek to keep silent. When Vaughon finally let go, Rook’s arms heavily sunk down. He flipped the fabric of his cloak aside, revealing a leather purse, and pulled out several small metal strips.

Rook’s brow furrowed.

“I know,” Vaughon spoke slowly, emphasizing his words as though making sure Rook caught the gist. “Not many dragons bother to learn lock picking. Kissa thinks I might as well become human or troll.”

Is he saying he’s a dragon?

With Vaughon focused on the lock picking, Rook dared to look at his eyes again. Past the wavering, flame-like orange glow, the irises were blood red.

The shackles fell from Rook’s wrists, startling him.

“One down,” Vaughon announced. He glanced up and caught Rook studying him. He gave another good-natured smile.

Biting his lip nervously, Rook looked away. He massaged his swollen, scabbed wrists.

“Two more to go,” Vaughon continued, “and if they follow the same… Lean forward a little.”

Rook docilely obliged.

“…So, you do understand me,” Vaughon noted. He got the collar off faster. “Or getting the point of my words, at least.” He quieted as he focused on the lower shackles. When those clicked open, he released a tsk and surprised Rook by wrapping his warm, callused fingers around Rook’s bruised ankles. “Can you stand?”

Rook nodded, wincing. With the collar off, the burning sensation had reduced, but it still hurt.

Vaughon looked unconvinced.

Rook swallowed what little spit he could muster down his swollen throat. “Yeah.”

“Excellent,” Vaughon said, but his accent had changed tone and type.

It was like Rook’s ears had popped and he was hearing another language. And yet, he understood it. His brow furrowed.

Vaughon reached under his arm to help him stand, asking, “Do you know your name?”

"Rook," Rook rasped. His throat felt like sandpaper had been dragged through it.

Vaughon grinned.

“I’m Vaughon. You’re amongst friends now, Rook. Follow me.”

After wiping the dried blood below his nose, Rook took a shaky step. As they exited the room, Vaughon warned against further talking. Rook was fine with that. The twins had clearly snuck in, so surely they had a discreet way out! Kissa was already impatiently down the passage.

Wait, Dalia!

Rook gasped, flooded by the sudden guilt of nearly having forgotten her. He grabbed Vaughon’s sleeve, ready for the guy to yank loose, but Vaughon looked over at him tenderly, like Rook was a child about to ask him to check his closet for monsters.

He fought to keep his scratchy voice low. “Dalia, my friend, was captured too.”

Vaughon’s expression turned uncertain.

“What’s wrong?” Kissa called in a hushed voice. “We need to move!”

“I think he has an ally held here,” Vaughon answered.

“If we pass them on our way out, we’ll help, but with him we can’t go searching. There’s too many tunnels; too many traps and villains.”

“I bet Corruption found all the youth.” Vaughon placed a hand on Rook’s back to keep him moving. Warmth radiated from him like a furnace in the cold tunnels. “But he can’t have this one.”

The scent of fresh blood made Rook’s hunger churn in his stomach. He spotted his two guards slouched against the wall, ravaged by something sharp. Unease overrode his hunger.

Kissa crouched. Her fingers pressed against the wall as she peered around a turn. Rook swore her fingers shimmered, briefly, revealing long, sharp claws streaked with blood, existing in another layer of the world.

Rook abruptly glanced at Vaughon’s fingers. Normal. No shimmering nails. No blood.

Vaughon slipped an arm around Rook as though neither the corpses nor the invasion of personal space bothered him. In fact, he appeared proud.

“We’ll keep you safe. Stay close, quiet, and let us do any fighting.”

Rook stiffened, but weakly nodded.

I'm no good to anyone if I remain here and I don’t want to slow these two down. If I escape, I can come back.

They rushed along a route parallel to Rook’s failed escape dash. He paused before a side passage he suspected was the far end of the screamer’s hall. Was Gwendolyn still there? Might Dalia be nearby? He hadn’t heard her voice, but Dalia wasn’t a shouter. She’d observe and wait for the opportune moment.

He wouldn't forgive himself if he didn't check. Pulling away from Vaughon, Rook sprinted down the passage.

“Rook!” Vaughon hissed, right on his tail.

There were no stationed guards and unlike Rook's hovel, the hall resembled an asylum carved into stone. Entrances to varying sized rooms lined the walls. The sixth one down had Rook skidding to a halt. Vaughon nearly collided into him.

A thin boy, three or four years younger than Rook, sat hunched on an empty barrel in the middle of the space. He clutched his legs miserably—wheat‑coloured scales forming under drying flakes that mottled his skin—and a strange muzzle covered his mouth. A chain was looped around his neck, padlocked, with the line leading up to the ceiling.

Rook’s sharp intake of breath caused the boy to open his eyes. They widened in immediate plea. The puffy, bruised orbits around his eyes enhanced the mesmerizing violet colour the irises held. Rook nicknamed him Violet.

Vaughon rushed in and crouched down, lightly touching the emaciated boy’s knee. “Cousin-kin, fear not, we are here to help.” When certain the boy wouldn’t startle, he carefully inspected the lock.

Wanting to help, Rook circled behind, searching for the muzzle’s strap. The back of the shirt, covered in dry blood, had been ripped.

Rook covered his mouth with his hand. He was normally indifferent to blood. Henry had called him cold during a particularly gory film they’d watched together. But with this boy… 

Through the ripped cloth were two wounds near his shoulder blades. They shifted as the boy moved his shoulders.

Wings! Wings used to be here!

Vaughon met Rook’s horrified gaze and gave the smallest shake of his head. The dragon could no doubt smell the wounds and believed now wasn't the time to voice observations. If Violet was like the fawn, he might not even know he’d had wings, just that it hurt.

By the entrance, Kissa looked disgusted. “Is this Dalia?”

Rook shook his head. He felt along the muzzle’s bindings. His fingers shook. It was so tight, he couldn’t even pull free the curly, sand-coloured hair that had gotten caught under the material. There was no latch, strap, or weakness of any sort to break.

“No way to get it off,” Rook muttered. It was easier to mutter quietly than to speak regularly.

“It must have been sealed using magic,” Vaughon said distractedly, his picks at work. “Likely human work. Fucking wizards. I can’t think of any other species that’d get such results.”

Despite the disconcerting human comment, Rook felt pleased Vaughon trusted his observation. But, should he trust the dragon? Aside from the siblings getting him out, he didn’t know where they were going. What they wanted. This could be an out of the frying pan and into the fire scenario.

The lock clicked and Rook caught the chain before it unravelled and clanked against the barrel. He slowly released it for the desired, muted effect.

Vaughon nodded approvingly. “We’ll work the muzzle off later.” He gently patted the shoulder of the injured boy. “Cousin-kin, you are welcome to come with us.”

The boy nodded vigorously. He looked away from Vaughon to Rook, his eyes widening and narrowing, trying to convey something. His bruised fingers tapped his shirt. A cheesy logo from a 90s movie was on the front. These type of cheap shirts were sold at a mall Rook used to visit.

“Retro.” Rook said, “Not my style, but yeah, I’m not from here either.”

The boy shook his head. His muscles were taut, his throat working uselessly behind the mask. Only muffled sounds escaped, and the effort clearly hurt.

Unnerved and uncertain of what to do, Rook backed away.

“Brennan,” Kissa said softly, in the strange version of talking that sounded like another language. She nodded her head to someone in the hall, signalling them to this room, and moved to make way for them.

Brennan stepped into sight, but remained at the opening.

He shared the twins' red eyes and the subtle glow that wavered over their irises—but looking more closely at them now, Rook realized it was more like an aura highlighted within the iris’ lines. His close-cropped hair was a mousy brown with a hint of green and a shaved line ran from one ear to the back of his head. Thick scars ran from his cheek into his hairline, hinting he was no stranger to violence. Standing easily seven feet tall and looking to be in his late twenties or early thirties, Brennan was both taller and older than the twins. His fierce bearing made it much easier to believe this was an actual dragon, albeit in humanoid form.

“The red trail got too busy for stealth.” Brennan’s accent was thicker than the twins. Rook barely understood him.

Kissa nodded her head towards the room’s interior.

Brennan’s gaze landed straight on Rook. He was quiet for a moment, his face unreadable. Then, “Thank the sky, you found… him. We’re not the only ones taking advantage of the planetary alignment. I overheard they caught a group sneaking in through the main ventilation shaft.”

“Stupid idea. But then, so is the idea of dragons sneaking underground in tight spaces.” Kissa’s lip rose in dislike. “At least we can leave now, and the back trail is still an option.”

Brennan grunted in agreement, but his gaze remained on Rook.