By the time dawn broke, Kaelen was awake and sitting propped against a tree, his face pale but determined. The mist of early morning clung to the clearing, the smell of blood and smoke lingering faintly in the air.
“You should be resting,” Seraphina said as she knelt beside him, checking the bandages Lyra had secured around his ribs.
Kaelen caught her wrist before she could pull away. “You need to hear what I found out before they silenced me.”
Darius appeared out of the trees just then, shirt discarded, damp from a river wash, his silver eyes sharp. He crouched across from them, his attention fixed entirely on Kaelen.
“Talk,” Darius said.
Kaelen’s jaw worked before he spoke. “The witch wasn’t just torturing me for information. She was preparing me. For a ritual.” His gaze flicked to
