Zane
Only fragments of the following hours remain clear.
Not because there is chaos, but because my mind is processing too much at once. The attackers are driven back. The wounded are gathered. The gate is reinforced. My betas bring reports, and I answer them, assign tasks, move like a machine that has no choice but to function.
All the while, one image keeps pulsing inside me.
Elariana kneeling on the ground, her hand pressed to Lysa’s chest—and the light… that damn light… flowing out of her as if it had always been there, as if someone had simply kept the switch turned down until now.
It wasn’t healing herbs.
Not instinct.
Not placebo.
It was something else.
By the time silence finally settles and my people begin to disperse, I find myself in my study. My stomach is empty, my he
