I shake my head, then go back to the task, tightening the binding, pressing enough to slow the bleeding again. He doesn’t flinch, but he does grunt in pain. The world narrows for a second.
Just us. Just this. The heat. The sand. The danger still out there. This—this quiet moment in the middle of it all.
“I wasn’t going anywhere,” I tell him.
His gaze holds mine, searching, and he finds something because his shoulders ease, just slightly. A fraction.
“I am glad,” he says.
Simple. Uncomplicated. And somehow that means more than if he’d given a long speech. Behind us, Drazan’s voice cuts through the quiet.
“Move.”
Not sharp or harsh, but the moment breaks.
I step back and Kael pushes off the rock. He steadies, breath uneven, but stronger than before. This time, when he shifts his weight against me, it doesn’t feel like he’s barely holding on. It feels like he’s choosing to.
We move. Together.
We don’t speak again right away. Not because there’s nothing to say. There’s too much of it sitting just under the surface, waiting for the wrong moment to break everything open.
The desert shifts as we move. The ground dips into a shallow basin of broken stone and wind-carved ridges. It gives us cover from the open horizon, but it also traps the heat, making the air heavier and harder to breathe.
Drazan stops the group with a raised hand. The others spread out, forming a loose perimeter. One kneels near a ridge, scanning the distance. Another checks the sand, reading it like a story I can’t quite see. Safe, for now.
I guide Kael down before he can pretend he doesn’t need it. He lowers himself without argument, back braced against the rock, one wing shifting to keep his balance.
His breath is uneven, but steadier. I drop in front of him, close enough that my knees brush his.
“Don’t move,” I say.
He doesn’t argue, which surprises me. I reach for the binding. The bleeding has slowed, but not stopped. It won’t—not without time, rest, and things we don’t have out here.
“You should have let me handle the filament,” he says.
I don’t look up.
“And let it take you?” I tighten the wrap slightly. “Not happening.”
His jaw shifts.
“You are not expendable.”
The words are sharp. I glance up at him.
“I never said I was.”
“You acted as if you were.”
“I acted like I wasn’t going to let it drag you back into that hole.”
His gaze locks on mine, and for a second, the world narrows again.
“You would have been taken,” he says.
“So would you.” A beat. Neither of us looks away, but something shifts. He exhales slowly, like he’s letting something go. “That outcome is unacceptable,” he says.
A corner of my mouth lifts before I can stop it.
