Kaien limps past me, already being swarmed by a medic who tries to check his arm. Kaien waves them off like a king dismissing a servant.
“Commander,” the medic insists.
Kaien’s eyes flick to Nyra. “Treat her,” he says. “I can bleed later.”
The medic looks like they want to argue. Then they see my expression and decide today is not the day to die for protocol.
Theron tries to sit up.
He fails.
He laughs at himself—thin, ugly—and then coughs and winces.
I kneel beside him, because my body moves before my brain can stop it. “Hold still,” I order.
Theron’s eyes flick up at me, bright with pain and stubbornness. “Bossy today.”
“Shut up.”
He grins anyway, teeth pink. “Is she—”
“Out,” I say, voice tight. “She dropped. Cocooned. Mira’s handling her.”
Theron’s grin fades. “Eryndor?”
I
