Iyana pushed open the doors to her room.
She didn't trust the imperial grounds. Not the political corridors riddled with secrets, not the watchful eyes lining the hallways, and certainly not the too-helpful voices offering assistance with ulterior motives. So she brought him to the only place she could control—the private quarters assigned to her within the military base.
The room was sparse and less than glamorous; it was military-standard. It was just a bed, a desk, a chair, and a closet. But for now, it was the safest place for him.
Vyan had already slipped back into unconsciousness, his head lolling against her shoulder, breath shallow and uneven. She tightened her grip on him as she crossed the threshold, leaving a morbid trail of blood behind.
She laid him gently on her bed, and for a moment, just one, she allowed herself to breathe. But the scent of iron clung to the air like a curse.
He was bleeding too much. Too fast.
