Kael's POV
He keeps saying it. A thin, broken thread of sound that slips out whenever consciousness flickers back for a few seconds. Please.
Sometimes it is barely audible. Sometimes it is clearer, desperate, like he is still asking something of the dark. His fingers twitch against the sheet. His brow furrows.
Then the pain or the exhaustion pulls him under again and the word fades until the next shallow rise toward the surface.
I sit on the edge of the cot and hold his hand and I do not know what else to do.
His rib is stabilised. The lacerations are cleaned and closed. The suppressant is working as well as anything temporary can. His mana is still banked too low to accelerate the healing the way an A-rank body should.
