Malakar's POV.
She doesn’t cry right away.
Hope just kneels there, clutching Sarah’s body, her shoulders shaking, her bloodstained hands trembling where they press uselessly against the wound. The forest is still—too still. No birdsong. No breeze. Just the soft, wet sound of her grief as it begins to break loose.
And… it shreds me.
I feel it in my chest like a blade—deep, twisting, unrelenting. Her agony pulses through the air like heat off fire, and I can hardly breathe beneath the weight of it.
I want to go to her. I want to gather her in my arms, whisper that it wasn’t her fault, tell her she’s not alone. I want to wipe the blood from her skin and shield her from this ugliness, this cruelty. From him.
But I can’t. Not yet. Because Malachai is still out there. And if we don’t stop
