"Loss comes like a silent wave, crashing down without warning, until nothing's left but the water you once loved."
– Alastair Swift, to his younger brother, as they prepared for battle.
Brody.
The world was chaos, a blur of shadow and movement, as Tamzin and I darted through the underbrush, the distance between us and the fanatics shrinking with each pounding step. I could feel my breath echoing in my chest, a frantic pulse in rhythm with the pounding of my boots against the earth. There was nothing but the chase, the constant reminder that we had no time, no room for error.
"Stay close," I called out through our bond, the words laced with tension I couldn't hide. I could feel her presence beside me, always steady, always determined, but I could also feel the weight of her body—a little slower now, a little more laboured. She wasn't as swift as she used to be. The strain was real, and I hated it.
