“He did?” I ask quietly.
He nods faintly. “Saved six of us… went back in twice… i***t,” he murmurs, and there’s reverence in his voice.
I didn’t know that. No one told me. I knew he died a hero, but I didn’t know how many were standing here because of him.
“Thank you,” I whisper, not sure who I’m thanking.
His grip loosens, and I ease my wrist free so the healer can work, but my chest feels different now, fuller and sharper, like grief just found a new edge.
The door opens behind me, and I know who it is before I turn because the air shifts, because my body recognises him even when my mind doesn’t want to.
Ezra steps inside and stops just past the doorway, and for once he doesn’t speak, he just looks.
His eyes move from the cots to the blood to my hands braced against a warrior’s si
