The drafty stone corridor leading to the infirmary was silent, save for the rapid, rhythmic tapping of my boots against the floor. I hurried along, my hands buried deep in the pockets of my apron as I tried to clear my head.
My mind was a chaotic mess. The lingering warmth of Noah's desperate kiss in the sitting room, the sharp, suffocating memory of Vincent's cold lips against mine in the dark hallway, and the fragile, quiet hope in Anabel's eyes all swirled together, making my chest ache with an unbearable weight.
I just needed to get to Physician Thorne. I needed to focus on herbs, bandages, and feverish warriors—anything that didn't involve the high-stakes battle pulling me in four different directions at once.
I turned the final corner toward the subterranean stairs, the torchlight flickering faintly against the damp stone walls.
*THUD.*
A sudden, violent explosion of agony erupted at the base of my skull.
