THIRTY-EIGHT
Ava moved swiftly toward the infirmary. Sage’s legs gave way, and Devon was forced to carry her the rest of the way.
Inside, Grey was already laid out across one of the medical beds, his leg wrapped properly. He looked a lot better than he had back in the desert.
Devon set Sage on top of the other medical bed. He and Ava worked quickly, pouring stinging liquid over the top of her bleeding hand.
“I do apologize for all of the theatrics. It was necessary.” Ava talked as she stitched Sage’s hand closed. “The Mystics have a reach far greater than we had originally anticipated. They are like a cancer on the magical community. All the families are vying for power again just like before, and frankly, we just don’t have enough agents to control them.”
“My hand.” Sage could barely
