Juliette gripped Isla gently beneath her good arm, trying to steady her. Edmund moved quickly to her other side, mindful of the burn, though his large hand accidently brushed the edge of the damaged skin. Isla flinched, a strangled whimper escaping her lips.
“Sorry,” he muttered, guilt lacing his voice.
They half carried her toward the path, Isla barely conscious of where she was. Her skin felt like it was still on fire, her clothes clinging painfully to the injured area. The world tilted and blurred.
“Isla!”
Andrew’s voice cut through the fog. Andrew. She wanted Andrew.
She heard running footsteps—then a sharp thud in front of her. Through the blur, she made out papers scattering across the pavement, fluttering like pale leaves around her feet. Some distant, detached part of her realized he’d dropped his work—his precious research, because of her—and that simple act did something to her heart.
Cool hands cupped her cheeks, steadying her swaying head. His outline was little more than light and shadow through the haze dancing in her vision. Black dots swarmed the edges, swallowing her sight bit by bit.
“Isla—hey, look at me.” Andrew’s voice was low and urgent. “What happened? How did she get burned like this?”
Her body trembled. She leaned more heavily into Juliette, trying to anchor herself to the sound of his voice.
“Sparklers,” Juliette said quickly, her tone tight. “Aetherian style.”
Andrew’s jaw clenched. “Let me see.”
He reached for Isla’s injured hand, his movements careful, lifting it gently so he could assess her mangled arm. Holding his other hand a few inches from the burn, he focused. A faint shimmer of condensation gathered around his fingers, the air itself cooling as he drew upon his power. Moisture formed a thin mist that drifted over her arm, soothing the angry, blistered skin without touching it directly.
Steam curled softly where cool air met the heat of the burn. Her breath caught, the pain ebbing just enough for her knees to steady the slightest bit.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice trembling but clearer now.
“Always,” he murmured, not breaking his focus. “This won’t heal it, but it should ease the pain a little.”
“It is.” She exhaled shakily, the tension in her shoulders loosening a fraction.
Edmund bent quickly to gather the fallen papers, stacking them with surprising care before tucking them under his arm. “Let’s get her inside. She still needs proper treatment.”
Andrew nodded. Still cooling the wound, he moved in step with Isla and Juliette, his free hand hovering protectively near her back. His face was drawn tight with worry, his hands trembling slightly—as though he could feel every flicker of her pain himself.
Once inside the quiet hospital wing, a receptionist hurried forward with a wheelchair. Andrew never stopped cooling Isla’s skin as they walked toward a treatment room.
The receptionist’s expression tightened when she saw the wound. “This is severe,” she murmured. “The doctor’s gone home and the nurse was called to the students’ quarters. She left because we don’t have any patients staying over right now—but it looks as if this can’t wait.”
“Get George, Edmund. He’s closer,” Andrew said firmly.
“George? He’s just a student doctor,” the lady stammered. “You need a—”
“He’s the best healer I’ve ever met,” Andrew cut in. His voice was commanding, brooking no argument.
Edmund nodded once and left at a near run, pressing the bundle of Andrew’s dropped papers into Juliette’s arms on his way out. She clutched them close to her chest. “I’ll find Harold,” she said quickly, her eyes wide with worry. “He’ll want to know.” Then she too vanished down the corridor.
The nurse and Andrew helped Isla onto a narrow bed. He sat beside her, keeping the stream of cool mist steady over her burns.
Isla met his eyes—intent, filled with helpless fury and care. “Are they ever going to leave me alone?” she asked, her voice breaking. She felt a tear run down her cheek and then another.
He stood and his other hand reached to brush the tears from her cheeks, his thumb gentle.
Andrew’s jaw tightened. “We won’t stop until they do,” he said fiercely.
Her body began to shake; it felt like she had a fever burning hot beneath her skin. She felt sweat pearling on her forehead. The room seemed to tilt and darken.
Fast footsteps echoed down the corridor and George burst in with Edmund close behind him. The receptionist hovered by the door, wringing her hands, unsure if George, a student, should really be the one to treat her.
