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Viktor should have made it.
Zaun had always been his city. He had grown up on these streets, survived their dangers, adapted to their cruelty. He should have been able to disappear.
But everything had unraveled too fast.
His body betrayed him first—his leg brace stiffened, his spinal corset locked, forcing him into painful, jerking movements. Every step sent shocks of pain up his back, the prosthetic’s nails grinding into his spine, a cruel reminder of just how much Jayce had woven himself into his body.
Then his mind betrayed him next—fatigue weighing his limbs down, his pulse pounding in his skull, his bond whispering, nagging, demanding.
“Return.”
“You are weaker alone.”
“Go back to him.”
He fought it.
But it was like trying to unwrite a law of nature.
Jayce was his Sentinel. His anchor. His constant.
And his body, his very biology, knew it.
Even if Viktor himself refused to.
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