The Iron Hold was a fortress, but it felt like a tomb.
The aftershocks of the Resonance Cannon's blast had faded, but the psychic fallout remained. It was a heavy, cloying mist that clung to the walls and darkened the minds of everyone inside.
Arden stood in the med-bay, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of Amara's chest. The woman looked small, fragile. Her skin was translucent, blue veins mapping the pathways where Vorn's machine had tried to hollow her out. She wasn't just exhausted. She was emptied.
"She's gone quiet," Kael said, standing at the foot of the bed. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week. His tactical gear was still stained with sewer muck, a grim reminder of the rescue. "Not just asleep. Quiet. I can't feel her presence anymore. It's like the light in the next room went out."
