Mark stands among the broken bodies and blood-soaked sand, his face carved from stone. His warriors are breathless but ready, already scanning the tree line for movement.
“They scattered,” one of them pants. “Few ran when the fire hit.”
Mark turns to me, to Caden, to Ryan—who stands like a statue, stained in rogue blood, chest still heaving from the weight of what he just did.
“You’ve all done enough,” Mark says, his voice gruff but warm. “Go. See to your sister. My men and I will track the rest. We’ll finish it.”
I want to argue. I want to run after every last one of them and tear them apart for ever thinking they could touch May Moon. But I can’t. My legs are heavy. My soul is trembling. And my sister is still fighting for her life.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Caden nods to Mark, his a
