Page 50 of Ash and Burn

The thought of the twelve-year-old girl, too weak from Ash Fever to shift, too sick to run, drove Arvid faster through the tunnel. Behind her, Dorn matched her pace with grim determination. Within minutes, another door appeared. Then more stairs, these leading upward. The alarms grew louder as they climbed, and when Dorn pushed open the final door, the chaos hit them full force.

The patient wing corridors were filled with frightened dragon shifters in hospital gowns, some leaning against walls for support, others helping weaker patients stand. But worse, the air reeked of fear and sickness.

"Go," Arvid said to Dorn, and they split apart like a military unit executing a practiced maneuver.

Arvid moved through the west corridor with systematic efficiency, room by room, her voice calm but commanding as she guided patients into the hallway. Most could walk without assistance, but some needed assistance. She organized the stronger patients to help the weaker ones, creating a human chain of support that moved slowly but steadily toward the evacuation point.

Twenty-three. Twenty-four.

Essin's room was last. The little girl was huddled in her bed, tears streaming down her pale face, and her blue eyes wide with terror. When she saw Arvid, she reached out with desperate relief.

"I knew you'd come save me," Essin whispered as Arvid lifted her from the bed, the child's weight almost nothing in her arms.

"Always," Arvid said, settling Essin against her hip.

Once back in the corridor, her group of twenty-five patients formed a ragged line—some walking, some supported by others, all moving toward safety with the determination of people who refused to give up. When they reached the tunnel entrance, Dorn was already waiting with his group, his face grim but relieved.

"Everyone's accounted for," he reported.

Arvid nodded, still carrying Essin, and gestured toward the tunnel entrance. "Then let's get them out of here."

Dorn opened the heavy door, revealing the dark passage that would lead them to safety. Behind them, the alarms continued their relentless shriek, and somewhere in the building, the sound of breaking glass echoed through the corridors.

Whatever Cevryn's planning, he's not getting these people.

Arvid stepped forward, Essin secure in her arms, and began leading fifty sick dragon shifters toward whatever safety they could find.

The underground tunnel soon stretched before them as Arvid adjusted Essin's slight weight in her arms, the twelve-year-old's fevered body radiating heat through her hospital gown. Behind them, forty-eight other patients moved in a careful human chain—some leaning heavily on stronger neighbors, others shuffling with a determined pace despite their bodies betraying them.

Dorn carried a little boy who couldn't have been older than ten, his weathered face set in grim lines as he guided their procession through the narrow passage. The alarms from above had faded to a distant wail, but the urgency remained thick in the recycled air.

"Is there an exit that leads directly outside?" Arvid asked, her voice echoing off the stone walls.

"Yes." Dorn's breathing was labored but steady. "About fifty meters ahead. It connects to the surface near the eastern perimeter."

Good. Away from whatever chaos is happening at the main building.

The mate bond thrummed with distant tension—Calix's emotions bleeding through their connection like smoke under a door. Fear. Fury. The kind of protective rage that made kings do dangerous things. She pushed her own emotions back, hoping he could feel her determination and her refusal to let anything happen to these people.

The tunnel curved slightly, and ahead, another heavy door came into view. Dorn reached it first, repositioning the boy in his arms to work the manual release. Then the door swung open, revealing stairs that climbed toward natural light.

"Everyone up," Dorn called back to the patients. "Slowly and carefully."

Arvid positioned herself at the base of the stairs, Essin still in her arms, watching as the human chain began to move upward. Each patient who passed her received a nod of encouragement and a quiet word of reassurance. These people trusted her—not just as a scientist, but as someone who would see them safely through this crisis.

Forty-six. Forty-seven. Forty-eight.

When the last patient disappeared up the stairs, Arvid began her own ascent. Essin had been quiet throughout their escape, but now she stirred slightly, her large blue eyes focusing on Arvid's face with startling clarity.

"Are you our future queen?"

The question caught Arvid completely off guard. She nearly stumbled on the next step. "How can you tell?"

"I can smell the completed bond." Essin's voice carried the matter-of-fact tone that only children managed when discussing the impossible. "Your scent is different now. It's mixed with the scent of King Calix."

Arvid felt heat creep up her neck—not embarrassment but something deeper. Recognition.

"Yes, I am the future queen," Arvid replied, feeling that truth resonate in her body, and her throat tightened unexpectedly. "But right now, what's most important is getting you to safety."