Astrid was horrified by the sight.
She had finally found him. After miles of trekking through that cursed forest, after counting close to two hundred bodies—she had finally found Mika.
This should have been a moment of elation.
Joy.
Happiness.
She should have been jumping up and down, screaming his name, running into his arms.
But she couldn't.
Because the state Mika was in...it was absolutely miserable.
He was alive. Somehow, impossibly, he was alive.
But looking at him, she couldn't help but think that death might have been kinder.
He stood in the middle of the clearing, if you could call it standing.
It was more like he was held upright by sheer force of will since his body was a canvas of wounds.
Bruises covered every inch of visible skin.
Cuts and gashes crisscrossed his arms, his legs, his face.
One of his legs was twisted at an angle that made her stomach turn—clearly broken, and badly.
His arm...oh god, his arm.
