***Dru's POV***
The shack smelled like desperation. Bitter herbs, sweat, and the metallic tang of blood hung in the air, clinging to my lungs like the swamp’s wet fist. Marisol’s breath rattled in her chest, uneven and wet, like a cracked bellows. I adjusted the IV drip—*spider's root, holy basil, lavender, a dash of moonshine to thin the poison*—and wiped her forehead with a rag. Her skin was cold. Too cold.
“Hold on, please,” I whispered, my voice steadier than my hands. “Dragon’s coming. They’re all coming.”
A twig snapped outside. Too close. Too deliberate.
My fingers brushed the pistol tucked in my waistband. “Ti Blan…?” I called, knowing it wasn’t him. Ti Blan moved like a shadow, silent as the gators.
The door exploded inward before I finished speaking. Splinters rained down
