Xander laid Lyra gently onto the bed, careful not to jostle her too much. Her skin was still pale, lashes resting against flushed cheeks, her breathing shallow but steady. She hadn’t stirred since they brought her back.
He exhaled slowly, brushing damp strands of hair from her forehead before pulling the blanket over her bare form. For once, he didn’t smile or tease. His usual swagger had been stripped away by the shock of what they’d witnessed.
Kyson stood by the doorway, arms crossed, his posture rigid but eyes stormy with thought.
“She’s burning up again,” Xander murmured. “But not like last time. This isn’t just fever.”
Kyson didn’t respond right away. His gaze remained fixed on her. “She fought like she’s done it her whole life.”
“Exactly,” Xander said, stepping back and rubbing
