Fiore awoke to the sickening thud of flesh meeting bone. Blinking against the fog in her mind, she forced her eyes open, disoriented but quickly honing in on the scene before her. Lance stood over a bloodied, rugged-looking man, his fist coming down again and again, each blow sending a splatter of crimson into the snow.
Fiore’s breath hitched as she pushed herself up, muscles aching, her body heavy from exhaustion. She staggered, willing her legs to carry her toward him, but each step felt like dragging stone. When she reached him, she grabbed onto his arm with all the strength she had left.
“Lance, that’s enough!” she rasped, trying to pull him back. But it was like trying to move a mountain.
He didn’t even hear her, didn’t notice her presence. His eyes were wild, locked on the barely
