The Wolfbone Promise

“Lia! Lia, where are you?" The shouts came too late. By the time Lia burst out of the infirmary, flames already clawed up the eastern tower. White banners bearing the Rose sigil drifted as ash into the wind. She stumbled, blood smearing her apron, the scent of antiseptic overwhelmed by smoke and burning flesh. The plaza was a grave. Limbs jutted from under collapsed beams. Screams echoed like a dying choir. A metallic crash jolted her—soldiers. Bloodclaw insignias gleamed beneath soot and slaughter. One of them laughed. “Leave no survivors," someone growled. “Defective blood breeds defective loyalty." She ducked behind a broken stall, heart thudding. Her healer's bag dug into her ribs. Breathe. Count. Survive. “Cadet Thorne," a captain barked. “Clear the perimeter. Execute stragglers." “Yes, sir." She dared a glance and froze. A silver-eyed boy—barely older than her—stepped over bodies with a drawn sword. His uniform was too clean, his jaw too tight. His gaze didn't linger on the c*****e. Detached. Conditioned. Obedient. But when he passed a collapsed fruit stand, he halted. A moan. Someone still breathing. He yanked the wreckage aside. A Bloodclaw recruit—no older than fifteen—lay with a steel shard in his stomach. “Medic," the boy called. No one answered. The captain had moved on. The boy hesitated. Then he knelt, pressing his palm to the wound. His hand shook. Lia should've run. But her legs moved forward, not back. Toward the enemy. Toward the bleeding child. “You're going to get yourself killed," she whispered to herself, then louder: “Move." The boy's head snapped up. “Who—?" “Shut up. Lie him flat." She dropped to her knees, yanking gauze from her satchel. “Hold him still." “You're... you're not Bloodclaw." “And he's bleeding out. Do you want him to die?" He said nothing but obeyed. Lia worked fast—pressing gauze, clamping vessels, stitching flesh. Her fingers were steady despite the heat and noise. When she finished, the boy watched her with something unreadable. “You're... one of the defectives." She packed her tools. “I'm a healer." “You helped a soldier." “I helped a boy." A moment of silence stretched. Then heavy boots thundered behind them. “There!" a soldier roared. “She's aiding the enemy!" Rough hands seized her. Iron cuffs snapped closed. “No—wait!" the silver-eyed boy stepped forward. “She saved—" “Step back, Cadet Thorne." “She saved his life—" “She's a traitor," the officer growled. “Fraternizing with imperial forces." Lia didn't resist as they dragged her toward the prison wagon. The boy stared after her, fists clenched, lips parted—but said nothing more. Smoke curled around them, swallowing everything in gray silence. She didn't look back. Didn't beg. But inside her chest, something cold solidified. That heartbeat she saved—it would be her compass. Even if it belonged to the enemy.