Kestrel's POV
The bus is dark, but the lights from the camp make me see through as I enter. The interior is shadowy, with only the faint glow from outside illuminating the rows of leather seats. Tyler has already torn his clothes, and I cover my mouth in shock. His Sally Royal Hockey jersey is ripped down the middle, now serving as makeshift bandages pressed against Zeph's face.
Zeph is definitely unconscious, his powerful frame slumped awkwardly across the back seat. His usual confident presence is gone, replaced by a vulnerable stillness that makes my heart clench.
Blood has dried in dark trails from his nose down his chin, staining his white t-shirt crimson beneath his open leather jacket.
Zeph?" I call out, my voice echoing in the empty bus.
"Oh my God," I whisper, rushing to his
