The night was endless.
Elara worked over Damon's body, her gift flowing until she was faint with exhaustion. The wound was deep—too deep—and even with all her power, she could only slow the bleeding, not stop it. The light flickered from her hands, dimming as her strength waned. She pushed harder, forcing more of herself into him, but the wound wouldn't close. It gaped at her, red and terrible.
Caleb stayed beside her, bringing water, wiping her face, holding her steady when she swayed. He didn't speak. Didn't interrupt. Just supported her, his presence a steady anchor in the storm. Luna helped where she could, fetching supplies, comforting the other wounded, her young face pale with fear. Marta moved among the patients, her old hands steady, her eyes sad.
Damon's eyes fluttered open as
