"Is she going to be fine?" Ezrik asked for what felt like the hundredth time.
They had rushed Willow back to the camera-blind cave with Sage, who had passed out from the fall, and a depressed Indigo being quietly calmed by Zeke's hand rubbing slow circles on her back.
Willow lay unconscious. Her head rested against Ezrik's chest, her body limp in his lap. Evren knelt in front of her, sliding an injection needle into her wrist. The serum boosted healing, blocked infections, and everything he could risk giving her in one dose.
Her face was cleaned, the gash on her cheek covered, her arm tightly bandaged. She was swallowed in Ezrik's jacket now, the fabric hanging off her small, unmoving frame. Her skin looked frighteningly pale.
"Yes," Evren exhaled, brushing blood-matted strands of hair from her forehead.
"I think you should put her mask back on," Mikey said uneasily from the corner. "She's a Dreg, remember? Without it she'll get worse."
