"Don't move him yet."
Magnolia's voice cracked through the fog as she dropped to her knees beside Beckett's bloodied form, her hand already pressed hard against the wound in his thigh. Her fingers trembled, but her face remained stone.
"He's poisoned," Rhett said behind her, crouched low, his jaw set with fury. "There's a residue on the blade. Something dark. It smells like clover rot and ashroot."
"He's burning up," Magnolia whispered. "I can feel it under the skin, his blood's racing too fast."
Lucien stood guard a few paces away, blade drawn, eyes scanning the treeline like a hawk in a storm. The forest beyond them was too still. The kind of stillness that followed violence, and dared more to come.
Beckett stirred slightly, his breath catching with a sharp groan. "She... she was here…"
Magnolia leaned closer. "Who, Beck?"
