Eira's pov
"She doesn't even flinch when the machines beep," I muttered.
Kira's chest rose and fell beneath the tangle of wires and blinking monitors, each breath aided by machines that hissed with clinical coldness. She looked… small. Smaller than I'd ever seen her. And that was saying something, considering how loud her presence usually was. Her stubbornness alone could fill a room.
But now?
Now she was silent. Fragile.
A shade of the warrior who'd once charged headfirst into a barricade for a group of frightened civilians.
I pressed my palm to the glass, fingers barely touching the surface. "I should've protected her."
"She's not dead," Draven said behind me. His voice was low, almost cautious. Like he knew I was on the verge of splintering. "And if you think for a second that you didn't do enough, you're blind."
I didn't turn to face him. "Malrick played us."
"Yeah. He did."
I closed my eyes. "And I let him."
Silence stretched between us. Thick. Sharp.
