Victor’s POV
I stood in the doorway of my son’s room and made myself watch. Looking away had started to feel like its own kind of cowardice.
Ryker had been like this for days now. The sheets were soaked through no matter how often they were changed. The fever was climbing because of the poison.
Draven knelt beside the bed. He ground herbs in a shallow stone bowl with the steady patience of a man who had done this a thousand times before. Nothing in his face said he believed it would work this time.
“How is he?” I asked, though I could see the answer myself.
“Fighting,” Draven said without looking up. “For now.”
Ryker groaned in his sleep. It was a low, wretched sound. His whole body curled inward around the pain the way a man curls around a wound he cannot reach. I watched his hand f
