Cassian’s breath was shallow, too slow for comfort, and it weighed on me like a stone in my gut. He was slumped against the jagged edge of the ravine, barely conscious, his eyes flickering like the dying embers of a fire that didn’t want to go out. The silver wound was still gnawing at him, burning its way through his veins. It wasn’t just a wound. It was a countdown. Every second felt like the last.
But I couldn’t afford to think about that right now.
I had to focus. Had to move.
The sounds of the forest were different now. The night was quieter, too quiet. I could hear the faintest snap of a twig, a rustling in the underbrush. They were close. Too close.
I turned back to Cassian, my hands trembling as I wiped the blood off his chest. It wasn’t enough to clean the wound. It never was.
