Serena's shoulder ached under Bai Lian's weight, but she didn't let it show.
The Eastern girl's arm was broken in at least two places. Her skin was pale, slick with sweat, and she clutched the shattered remnants of her flute like a lifeline. Every step she took was an effort, and Serena was doing most of the work keeping them upright.
The Eastern girl's breath came in ragged, wet gasps, her fingers clutching the broken halves of her flute like a lifeline. Blood seeped through the makeshift bandages Serena had torn from her own sleeves, but Bai Lian hadn't made a sound since the trial's final moments—just stared ahead with hollow eyes, her lips moving in silent prayer.
Between them, they carried the prize.
A sphere of swirling darkness, barely contained by the silver-threaded bracelet-like structure coiled around it. It writhed in Serena's grip, pulsing like a living heart, resisting her touch, but still not nearly as dangerous as it was before.
