Eira's pov
I didn't want to see her.
I told myself that five times on the way to the med bay.
Told myself again while climbing the steps outside the south wing. While nodding at the guards. While ignoring the pit in my stomach that had taken root ever since Draven told me Kira had come back.
Not returned.
Crawled.
Torn. Beaten. Burned.
Alive, but barely.
I could've sent someone else to check on her. But I didn't. And that says more about me than I'd like to admit.
The sterile scent of antiseptic smacked me in the face the moment I stepped inside. It burned, sharp and unforgiving, like a judgment passed in chemical form. Everything about the room was white,white walls, white bedsheets, white light overhead that made the bruises on Kira's face look even darker.
But it was the sight of her that made me stop breathing.
