It’s not dramatic. A moment. An instant. Just a fraction of instability—sand sliding, stone shifting beneath it—and my ankle twists before I can do a damn thing about it. Pain flares white-hot and immediate.
My breath punches out in a sharp, involuntary sound. I catch myself before I go down, hands splaying against my thighs as I lock the limb, trying to stop the pain. I straighten quickly and pretend it didn’t happen.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, though no one has asked.
I take another step. That’s the mistake.
The stress fracture lights up like a warning flare, pain ripping clean through the careful walls I’ve built around it. My vision sparks at the edges. The desert tilts. I stagger.
Strong hands grab my pack strap and my elbow at the same time, arresting the fall before gravity can finish the job. The grip is sure, unhesitating. Korr.
“I can walk,” I say, breathless from the pain, the words tumbling out before my pride can catch up. “Just—give me a second.”
He doesn’t answer, shifting closer instead. His presence is suddenly everywhere—heat, shadow, solidity. He adjusts hisstance, bracing his feet against sand and stone. I try to pull away and that’s when he lifts me.
There’s no warning or question. One moment my weight is on my own failing leg, and the next it’s gone—transferred cleanly and completely into his arms. The movement is practical and efficient.
One arm under my knees, the other braced solidly at my back, drawing me in close enough that my chest brushes his shoulder. My cloak bunches between us. My pack shifts, then settles as the ground drops away.
“What are you—” I start, then lose the rest of the sentence as he straightens fully, adjusts his grip, and turns back toward the path without breaking stride.
“Hold on,” he says, as if he’s issuing a safety instruction that cannot be ignored.
I twist instinctively, shock burning hotter than the pain.
“Put me down.”
He keeps walking.
Illadon stops short ahead of us, eyes wide for half a heartbeat before snapping into focus. He moves one step closer to Rverre, one hand lifting as if to shield her from something unseen. Rverre stares at me from where she stands, emerald eyes bright and intent.
“Oh,” she says softly. “That’s it.”
I grit my teeth.
“Korr.”
I brace my hands against his chest, intending to push away. It doesn’t work. He’s solid as stone beneath my palms. Unmoving and even less bothered by my feeble efforts.
“I said put me down,” I snap, lowering my voice as heat rushes into my face.
The humiliation of it crashes in all at once—being carried, being watched, being reduced to a problem someone else has decided to solve. He doesn’t even look at me.
“You’re done walking,” he says.
The words land like a verdict.
“I am not?—”
“You are,” he cuts in, finally glancing down at me. His gaze is steady. Not angry. Not indulgent. Just… certain. “And we don’t argue with fractures.”
“I didn’t ask you to?—”
“No,” he agrees. “You didn’t.”
He shifts me slightly higher in his arms, rebalancing his hold with an ease that makes my stomach drop and then he starts walking again.
The desert opens ahead of us, wide and unyielding, and for the first time since we left the canyon, I realize with terrifying clarity that the rules have changed and I am no longer the one enforcing them.
