Page 49 of Spirit Storm

"No." Freya drops to her knees beside him. Her hands hover over his chest, shaking. "No, no, no⁠—"

I fall down next to her. Press my fingers to his throat, searching for a pulse.

There isn’t one.

“Asher! Get him to the healers. Hurry.”

Asher looks at me, then to Henrik, and I know what he’s thinking, but I can’t give in to that truth. Not yet.

I swallow and meet Asher’s gaze. “Please. We have to try.”

The fact that he doesn’t argue hurts my heart. Henrik won’t get help in time. He can’t. He’s already gone.

The ride back to Order headquarters is a blur. I sit in the back row of the van with Orion pressed against my left side and Rowan turned sideways in the seat ahead of us. Her arms are wrapped around herself, her gaze fixed on something mid-distance that I can’t see.

Wylder. I need to find Wylder.

Even though we thought he was stable and he told me to stay and find our answers in the chamber, I hate that I didn’t go with him.

What if he isn’t stable?

What if…

Tears well and fall in warm streams down my cheeks. When we pull up to the headquarters, I’m out of the van and rushing through the front doors.

I saw the infirmary this morning when Cormac walked us through to the conference room. That’s where Wylder will be. He has to be.

I push through a set of double doors and look around the entrance to the infirmary. It's a wide, open space, with several rooms branching off from a central corridor.

Healers move through the space, soft lights, the smell of something herbal and antiseptic. My heart is going too fast. My hands won't stop shaking.

I scan each doorway in turn, moving before I've consciously decided to, looking for green eyes and dark hair and the particular stillness of someone trying not to show they're in pain.

I find him through the third doorway.

I'm beside his bed in seconds.

He looks terrible. Bandages wrap his entire torso, stark white against his tanned skin. And there's more across his left shoulder.

He's propped up against the pillows, awake, and the relief on his face when he sees me is so immediate that something in my chest finally loosens.

“I’m all right.” He lifts his arm, and I rush to him and climb onto the bed to curl in next to him.

I’m relieved and sad, and tired to the marrow of my bones. I hug him harder than I mean to and my tears fall in earnest.

Quick footsteps in the corridor bring the arrival of the others, but I don’t look up. My face is buried in Wylder’s neck, and I’m safe in his warmth and the smell of summer rain and growing things.

Wylder’s chest vibrates a little when he speaks, but I’m not listening to the conversation in the room. I’m focused on the steady rhythm of his heart beating beneath my ear.

Wylder is alive. He’s okay. He’s here, and he’s holding me, and he’s okay.

At least…

I sit up and swipe a hand over my cheeks. “Are you okay?"

"I'll survive." His expression is guarded, his eyes sad.

What did that mean? Is he sad because I’m sad? Because Asher and Orion have told him about Henrik? Or because there’s more, and he’s really not okay?