Ian ran, any exhaustion wiped from his body at the sight before him. Dozens followed, some soldiers from the barracks, others bystanders from their homes. The curfew of the night hadn’t lifted, but no one screamed at the Dragonborn to return to their homes. No one bothered. As Ian rounded the corner, his heart plummeted, and he tasted ash on his tongue. The street was gone.
They’d spent the last week cleaning up the rubble from the resistance attack. He knew what it looked like after a bomb had gone off. He just didn’t understand why. Why was he looking at a bombsite at the end of the street where the Wall’s Inn used to stand?
“Sir,” Simon said, “what are your orders?”
Ian focused back on the young man looking up at him as if he might have an answer. He always had the answers.
He wanted to throw up.
“Inform Chief Commander Harlow there’s been an attack. Find Junior Sergeant Vin and tell him what happened. He’ll help you gather the rest of our unit. Get them out here.”
Ian watched as Simon disappeared back around the corner. He didn’t run immediately. His first steps toward the rubble were stumbling. It was as if he were trudging through water, unable to move faster. He didn’t want to know.
The absence ached through his chest as if the universe knew for him. And then he ran, feet finally catching up to his brain. He wasn’t the first to makeit to the rubble, but he ignored the others as he climbed and crawled over stones and smoldering wood. The area was in chaos, and no one paid him any attention. He hissed as his hand made contact with a beam that was still red-hot. The acidic smoke filled his lungs, and the sounds of chaos moved through him, vibrating his very bones—screams, moans, crackling wood.
He knew he’d reached the exact spot where the inn had stood when he saw the remnants of the fireplace, its distinct stone pattern broken and blackened.
The first person he pulled from the rubble was a soldier—perhaps one from the dining room or from one of the bedrooms. He was dressed, so he guessed the former. The next three were Dragonborn, some dressed, some practically naked. All of them breathing, but barely. The next three weren’t so lucky.
He lost count—lost track of how many he saved and how many he didn’t. No matter how many arms he pulled at and stones he moved, he didn’t see her face.
Until he did.
He’d almost missed her. Almost didn’t recognize her with the side of her face crushed in. She was still wrapped in the blanket from her bed. He pulled her into him, ignoring the cold press of her skin against his. He ignored the blood, no longer flowing from her wounds. He sat there, pressing his ear against her chest, praying to the dragons and the kings and every demon that walked the forest that she would just take a breath. When a hand tried to pull him away, he felt the scream tear from his throat.
Not again. Not again.
He’d already lost so much. His heart had already been torn from his chest. His mom. Leon. Isadora. Death haunted him, chasing in his footsteps at every point he gave his heart away. It wasn’t fair.
Hot tears streamed down his face, and he tasted salt. He pressed his lips against her cheek, the only spot free of blood, and he felt a part of himself die.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SOFIA
Sofia lay on her stomach, staring at the wall and trying her best not to move.
“Lumi’s okay?”
“They’re doing well,” Flor answered, her fingers barely brushing along Sofia’s skin as she examined the damage this battle had done. “It looked worse than it was. In the end, they only needed a few stitches once I cleaned the blood away. They’ll heal fine, but they need to rest for a few days. It could have been much worse.”
“I should have kept Chalia closer,” Sofia said. The words felt raw in her throat. Just more blood on her hands. “It was my fault that the wolfshifters are invading the tribe’s land to begin with.”
“Lumi told me it was their idea to go hunting without Chalia. They also said this isn’t the first time the wolfshifters have tried to push the boundary and break the old truce.”
Sofia didn’t argue, but she closed her eyes, feeling hot tears ready to break free. She breathed slowly, releasing the pain until she found the rage once more. She could live off her anger. It fueled her, despite the heaviness it also placed on her shoulders.
“Well, you broke a few stitches,” Flor said, pulling at one so Sofia felt the sting and tug. She paused, as if unsure how to say the next part.Sofia’s stomach plummeted. She could have sworn her back had been feeling better over the past couple of days. She thought she’d been resting. Though perhaps hunching over books for hours on end wasn’t the best for her wounds.
“Just do what you need to,” she said when Flor still hadn’t spoken.
“That’s just it,” Flor said, her voice still perplexed. “I don’t have to do much of anything. Your back is healing.”
Sofia blinked. “That’s good. That’s great.”
“It’s weird. You’re healing faster than I’d expect. Especially given how you’ve treated the wounds.”
“Perhaps my back recognizes that we have shit to do and don’t have time to sit around healing,” Sofia said, sitting up.
