The Weight of Love
The world narrowed to a single point: Caleb lying still in the mud, his chest rising shallowly, blood soaking through the torn fabric of his shirt. Time didn’t slow—it stopped. Rowan stood frozen, heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the sounds of chaos around them. The scent of smoke and blood curled in his nose, but nothing smelled stronger than Caleb—Caleb hurt, Caleb fading.
“No,” Rowan whispered.
The battlefield became a blur. Wolves clashed in brutal, messy violence, their snarls and howls echoing through the forest like a war cry. But Rowan couldn’t look away. Caleb wasn’t moving.
He dropped to his knees, sliding through mud and blood, hands already shaking as they reached out. “Caleb. Caleb—look at me. You’re okay. You're going to be okay.”
Caleb’s eyelid
