Elara drops it like she’s reading a f*****g weather app.
Sienna is still in my arms. She is not peaceful. She is still too heavy. Her chest barely moves. Each breath is a sad little wheeze, like air scraping through a broken straw. Her skin has gone the color of old dishwater. Grey. It is wrong.
“Help her.” It rips out of me, more growl than words. My voice doesn’t sound like mine. Sounds like something cornered and bleeding.
Elara doesn’t flinch. Just watch my hand pressed to Sienna’s side like she’s grading me.
“I told you she was different,” she says, quiet, almost gentle. “Didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to trigger it.”
“TRIGGER WHAT? f*****g HELP HER!”
I’m already moving. Kicking the infirmary doors so hard, the metal frame screeches and buckles. Sienna’s head lolls against
