The night swallowed the last echoes of the collapsing cabin, leaving behind a hollow stillness that felt almost unreal. The raging fire crackled loudly behind them, burning hot enough to sear the memory of everything that had happened. The sky above seemed unnaturally wide, like a vast, indifferent witness to the devastation below.
Elena could barely process any of it.
Her breath shook as she knelt beside Michael, her hands slick with blood, some his, some hers, some Damian’s… the lines blurred until she couldn’t tell what belonged to whom. Her fingers trembled as she pressed harder into Michael’s wound, trying to stop the crimson flow spilling over her palms.
“Stay with me,” she whispered, her voice raw, the ache in her chest sharp enough to steal her breath. “Don’t leave me. Not now.”
