Sera Reyes took a crossbow bolt meant for me.
One moment we were at the training grounds, Dmitri running me through defensive drills while the afternoon sun beat down on the packed earth. The next moment Sera was on the ground, screaming, a black-fletched bolt buried under her collarbone.
Blood. So much blood.
It pooled beneath her, spreading across the dirt like a dark flower blooming. Her hands clawed at the shaft, making it worse, and her screams became wet, gurgling sounds that I'd hear in my nightmares for years.
I was on my knees beside her before I knew I'd moved.
"Don't touch it," I said, grabbing her wrists. "Sera, look at me. Don't touch it."
Her eyes found mine—wild, terrified, already glazing with shock. She was seventeen years old. She'd been following me everywhere for
