Chapter Eight: Price of a Ghost

The warehouse door creaked open. A shadow shifted against the dim green glow of the Shade Territory skyline. Tara's pulse slowed, then spiked. The man at the door was Landon Frasier. She knew him by the way he carried himself—an effortless stride, an air of confidence longer-lived than his years. But the second he stepped fully into the light, she froze.

His curls had grown longer, shaggier, falling just past his ears. His jacket was heavier than what she remembered him wearing back in the Middle Order, layered for practicality, not style. There was an edge to his frame, lean and restless, like he had been running for too long.

But it was his eyes that made her breath catch. They were the same deep green she remembered, but behind them was a tension she had never seen before. Something kept on a leash. A flicker of something untamed.

Tara gripped the edge of the table. Every fiber of her wanted to move. Wanted to call out his name, throw herself into his arms, demand why he was here, why he looked like this, why he hadn't been caught yet, why—But then his eyes met hers. And something changed.

Landon's shoulders stiffened. His entire stance closed off. That flicker of something in his gaze—recognition, relief, longing—was gone in a second. Snuffed out. Like a candle he had blown out himself. Tara felt the breath leave her lungs. Landon turned away, as if she were no one.

Tara's hands curled into fists. No. No, no, no. Her heart slammed against her ribs. He was pretending. Why? A familiar, sharp voice cut through the silence.

"So, now that the crew is all here,"

Collin leaned forward in his seat, rolling a knife between his fingers.

"...what do we do about her?"

Tara's stomach tightened. She glanced at Landon out of instinct, expecting him to say something, to step in, to explain. He didn't. He didn't even look at her.

Ballad's expression didn't change. She exhaled, resting her chin in her palm. "What do you mean?"

Collin gave her a flat look. "I mean, there's a bounty on her head, Ballad. We could trade her in for a hell of a lot of rations."

Tara felt a heat rush to her face.

Zeke hummed, leaning back. "I heard the Fluorescents are desperate. They want her back before the Ordies get their hands on her."

Lottie rested her chin in her palm. "So do the Ordies, though. Who do you think put the damn bounty out?"

Talulah's gaze flickered toward Tara.

"You'd be worth more alive than dead."

Tara's pulse pounded.

"Right." She forced the words out, her voice sharp as glass. "Because I don't already feel like a damn prize pig at an auction."

Ballad sighed, stretching her arms. "No one's turning her in."

Collin scoffed. "And why not?"

Ballad tilted her head toward Skye.

"Because he said so."

Tara's breath hitched as all eyes shifted toward him.

Skye was still, leaning against the wall near the firepit, arms crossed. The flickering light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the glint in his black-glimmering eyes. For a long, stretched moment, he said nothing. Then—quietly, but firm:

"She stays."

Collin huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Of course."

Zeke smirked. "Guess that settles that."

Tara exhaled sharply. She was allowed to stay. But the questions didn't stop pounding in her head. Why was there a bounty at all? She had been banished here by Bailon. If he wanted her dead, he could have done it then and there. Instead, he had spared her. And now he wanted her back? It didn't make sense. Tara clenched her fists. Something was wrong.