Seraphine's POV
By afternoon the light filtering through the tent canvas had grown harder, clearer. The healer cinched the final strap of the shoulder brace, her fingers quick and sure.
“No fever. Pulse steady,” she said. “Sit carefully, stand only briefly. If you have to travel, it’s possible — but you won’t set the pace today.”
“Understood.”
Darius sat behind me, silent, watchful, absorbing every instruction as if memorizing a battle plan.
Cassian pushed through the flap without preamble.
“We have to move,” he said. “The traitor is still close. If we stay, they’ll hit us again by nightfall. We need the castle.”
Darius’s gaze sharpened. “Agreed in theory. But Sera can’t ride long, and a carriage will shake her apart.”
“The carriage stays,” Cassian replied. “Too slow, too exposed.
