She didn’t move.
Her gaze clung to Viktor’s broken body, to the ruin seared into him. Words trembled at her lips, but before she could speak, Storne cut her off, sharper than he meant:
“Amerei. Please.”
She willed her breath not to shake—Viktor needed her calm, not her grief.
A single tear slipped free, tracing her cheek. She turned away at last, each step from him tearing something loose, like leaving half her heart bleeding on the table.
Roland was waiting, iron instruments in hand. “Ready.”
Matteo lifted Viktor’s chin. “Your shoulders bore the worst. If we can take it in one piece—”
“Yes,” Viktor rasped. “Just do it.”
Matteo shoved a stick between his teeth. “Bite down.”
Storne moved to the far side of the table at Matteo’s urging. The soldier’s whisper was low, dire. “Don’t let him move.”
Storne nodded once. Without a word, he wrapped both arms tight around Viktor’s waist, bracing for the storm.
Roland gave the count. “Three… two…”
The knife sank in.
Viktor arched against Storne’s hold as they slit the scorched skin of his back, peeling melted cloth from blistered flesh.
Blood ran hot over Storne’s arms. He only held tighter, jaw locked, as Matteo and his father worked in rhythm, trading instruments in silence while Viktor groaned against the wood.
“I should promote you for this,” Storne muttered, voice low at Viktor’s ear.
Viktor bit hard on the stick. “Keep your fecking charity.”
A faint smile ghosted Storne’s mouth. “Stubborn bastard.”
Roland gave a curt nod, and all at once the men ripped the last of the fabric from Viktor’s back.
His scream split chamber.
Blood spilled hot and fast, a cruel echo of the flames that burned him.
“Breathe,” Storne urged, bracing him through the shudder.
The stick clattered from Viktor’s teeth as he gasped for air.
Roland’s sharp eyes found the blood soaking Viktor’s thigh.
“Matteo. Shears.”
Steel snipped through charred fabric.
Matteo tossed the leggings aside and glanced toward Amerei.
“The paste. Quickly.”
Her hands shook, but she obeyed, grinding herbs to pulp. The scent ofsavorspearcut sharp through smoke and blood. Roland tested the bowl she returned with, his ears lifting.
“Good.”
