Zayn Chaos
"Do you think she'll survive?"
Greg's voice trembled, and for once, the usually composed warrior looked shaken. Fear was written across his face and I knew why. It mirrored all of us.
We couldn't find the herb. It was as if it didn’t even exist… or maybe it wouldn’t—not for another nine years. Sanaya, desperate to help, brewed a substitute, something pieced together from ancient knowledge and her own blood sacrifice. But even she admitted it was a gamble. A guess. A hope dressed as medicine.
And Aila was the one we were betting on.
The last image of her burned into my mind. The violet veins crawling beneath her skin like twisted roots, dark and alive. It looked as if something had taken root in her, feeding on her from the inside. Her lips were pale, her breathing shallow.
