Kaelen returned at midnight.Elara was in the infirmary, her ribs wrapped, her throat bruised purple, a gash on her forearm stitched closed. She sat on the cot, Sera beside her, both of them drinking broth from wooden bowls.The door burst open.Kaelen filled the frame. His eyes were wild—redder than she had ever seen them. His chest heaved. His hands were bloody. Not his blood."Elara."His voice was a blade.She set down her bowl. Wrote: I'm fine."You left the fortress."I had to."You could have died."I didn't.He crossed the room in three strides. His hands cupped her face—harder than before, almost desperate. His thumbs traced her cheekbones. His breath came fast and hot."Don't," he said, "ever—ever—do that again."She should have been afraid. His rage was a living thing, crackling in the air between them. But she wasn't afraid. She was tired. And she was sure.She wrote: They had Sera. They were going to kill her."I don't care about Sera."Sera, sitting on the next cot, rais
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