The young man did not stay still for long. The moment Soren turned to lead the way up the cracked stairs, the stranger bolted. He ran three steps, stumbled, and caught himself on a fallen stone. Blood ran dark down his left arm. He kept his gold eyes on Soren like a cornered animal. "Stay back," the young man said. His voice shook. "I don't know what you want, but I'm not going with you." Soren did not move. He had killed faster men than this. But a dead dragon was worth nothing. He needed the young man breathing, and running men on the heights fell to their deaths. "The rocks drop off behind you," Soren said. "One more step and you break your neck. Then I carried you out of the rubble for nothing." The young man glanced back. He saw the edge. His shoulders dropped, but his fists stayed up. "Why save me at all?" "You're wounded," Soren said. He nodded at the arm. "That cut will fever by morning. You'll be no use to anyone dead in a ditch." He kept his voice flat. He would not say that his eyes had gone twice to the young man's face, to the line of his jaw, to the gold in his eyes. He pushed the thought down. It was foolish. The man was a prize, not a person. "You could've left me under the stones," the young man said. "I didn't." Soren held out one hand, palm up, empty. "Come inside. I'll clean the arm. You can run after, if you still want to. You won't get far bleeding." The young man studied the hand a long moment. Fear and exhaustion warred in his face. Then his knees gave. He slid down against the stone, breathing hard. "My name's Ash," he said. "If you're going to bandage me, at least know who you're bandaging." Soren crossed to him. He got an arm under Ash's shoulders and lifted. The young man was lighter than he looked, and warm, too warm, like a banked fire. Soren ignored it. He half-carried Ash up the broken stairs into the old aerie, past faded banners and cracked carvings of a people long gone. Inside, Soren set him by the cold hearth. He tore a clean strip from his own shirt. He pressed it to the wound and bound it tight. Ash hissed but did not pull away. His gold eyes watched Soren's hands work. "You're not what I expected," Ash said quietly. "Neither are you." Soren tied off the bandage. The young man had come willingly through his door. He would not flee now, not wounded, not sheltered. The first problem was solved. But Soren's hands had lingered on the warm skin, and the knowledge sat heavy in him. He had told the sky-lords he would bring them a dragon's heart. Now the heart had a name, and a face he could not stop looking at.