“Cargo bay. Cabinet by the door. Blue case.”
I didn’t want to leave him. Didn’t want to let go of his hand, which had found mine somehow, his fingers cold against my palm.
But he was bleeding. And I was the only one who could stop it.
“Don’t move,” I told him.
“Wasn’t planning to.”
I ran.
The medical kitwas where he’d said it would be. Blue case, Vinduthi symbols on the lid. I grabbed it and checked on Turnip on my way back.
The boar was still on the cart, strapped down with the ties I’d found. His breathing was shallow but steady. His eyes tracked me when I passed. Still alive. Still fighting.
“Hold on,” I told him. “I’ll come back for you.”
The ship shuddered. A deep vibration that ran through the deck plates and up into my bones. The stars outside the cargo bay window stretched and blurred.
Hyperspace. We’d made the jump.
We were running.
Kallum was stillconscious when I got back. Barely. His eyes found mine when I dropped beside him, and something in his face eased.
“You came back.”
“I said I would.”
“People say things.”
I opened the case. Medical supplies I half-recognized. Bandages. Antiseptic. Suture tools that looked too delicate for my hands.
I pulled his shirt up. Worse than the reopened stitches. Not just the reopened stitches from before. Something new. Something deep. The blade from one of the men he’d killed, maybe. The edges were ragged and the blood welled up fresh every time I wiped it away.
“This is bad,” I said.
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We were busy.”
I wanted to yell at him. Wanted to shake him and demand to know why he’d fought through a burning orchard when he was bleeding out inside. Why he’d protected me when he should have been protecting himself.
But I knew the answer. I’d known it since he’d cupped my face in his bloody hands and told me I had him.
Stupid, stubborn ghost.
“Bandages,” he said. His voice was a whisper now. “Pack the wound. Pressure. My body will do the rest.”
“Your body is half-empty of blood.”
“Vinduthi heal.” His mouth twitched. “Just... slower when there’s less to work with.”
I worked. My hands knew what to do even when my mind was screaming. Pack the wound. Apply pressure. Wrap the bandages tight enough to hold but not tight enough to cut circulation.
Torek had taught me this. Years ago. Before I thought I’d ever need it.
