The air in the subterranean corridor was thick with the scent of pulverized stone and the lingering, metallic tang of the Alpha's cooling blood. Zeven’s breath came in ragged, wheezing gasps that tore at his throat, yet he did not slow his pace. He carried Lyra in his arms, her body unnaturally limp, her head lolling against his shoulder. Behind him, he dragged the unconscious form of Rey, the boy’s boots scraping a rhythmic, hollow sound against the jagged floor of the evacuation tunnel. Every muscle in Zeven’s body was a tight knot of agony, his ribs feeling as though they were held together by nothing more than raw willpower and the remnants of the shadow energy he had tapped into during the fight.
He looked back briefly, the darkness of the temple receding into the distance. The entir
