“Yeah,” I murmur. “We can agree on that.”
Silence settles between us, but it’s different. Easier, not empty, just quiet.
I finish securing the binding and sit back enough to assess the work. His color is pale, and he’s holding himself too tightly, like if he relaxes even a little everything might fall apart.
“You need rest,” I say.
“I need to keep moving.”
“You need both,” I counter. “And right now, you’re getting the first one.”
He looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Which tells me more than anything how bad it is.
A shadow falls across us, and I don’t have to look up to know it’s Drazan. He stops just outside arm’s reach. Close enough to speak. Far enough not to crowd. Drazan’s gaze drops briefly to the wound, then lifts again.
“He won’t make it to the city at this pace,” he says.
Direct. Clinical. Like he’s assessing terrain instead of his brother. My spine stiffens.
“He will,” I answer before Kael can.
Drazan’s eyes flick to me, not dismissive, but not impressed either.
“There’s a faster route,” he says. “Less cover. More exposure.”
Of course there is.
“There’s always a cost,” I mutter.
“Yes.”
Kael shifts.
“We take it,” he says.
I turn sharply to look at him.
“No, we?—”
His hand closes lightly around my wrist, interrupting.
“I can make it,” he says, eyes on mine.
There’s no bravado, no false strength, just pure intention and will. I search his face, looking for cracks. Any sign he’s pushing past what his body can actually handle. They’re there, but so is something else.
Determination. Choice.
Damn it.
I exhale slowly.
“If you collapse, I’m carrying you,” I say.
“You cannot carry me.”
“Watch me try.”
For a second, something almost like amusement flickers in his eyes, but it’s gone just as fast. Drazan watches the exchange. He says nothing, but something in his expression shifts into something that looks like understanding.
