The Old Ruins faded behind us like a bad dream that refused to die.
We moved in silence, three broken things limping through the thinning trees. Silas carried Lyra over his shoulder like a sack of shattered bones. She hadn’t spoken since the ruins, but every few minutes her body twitched, and a low, wet rattle escaped her throat — the sound of something that used to be human trying to remember how to breathe. Her white hair dragged against his back, leaving faint gray streaks on his torn shirt.
My pre-heat had dulled to a constant, nauseating throb. It no longer screamed for teeth and flesh. It simply sat there, heavy and wrong, reminding me that my body still wanted to create life even after I had turned my own child into fuel. Every step sent a shameful pulse between my legs. I hated i
