Jason knelt in the dust, his hands pressed against the black stone, his body trembling. The rage that had fueled him was gone, drained away like water through cracked glass. In its place was something worse.
It was pure agony.
Not physical—though his arms ached and his cheek still bled—but something deeper. Something that clawed at his chest from the inside.
"Ylva."
He looked at her body. Motionless and still bleeding with a hole in her stomach, a dark, wet crater that refused to close. Her green eyes were half-open but there was no one behind them. Her fur was matted with blood.
"Please," Jason whispered. "Please get up."
She didn't move.
Mae knelt on the other side of Ylva, her hands pressed against the wound. Her healing milk was useless here—the damage was too severe, the blood loss too great. Her brown eyes were wet as tears filled them. She shook her head slowly.
