AYLA'S POV
Stone. Air. The copper taste of blood on my tongue. I choke on it, lungs burning as I drag in a ragged breath. My knees buckle, and I collapse to the ground, hands trembling, skin still scorched with gold fire that refuses to fade.
Kael lies in front of me.
His body sprawled, chest barely moving, skin pale as ash. His claws are blackened, scorched down to the bone in places, and his chest is torn wide with marks that smoke like fresh brands. His face is still—not lifeless, but terrifyingly close.
"Kael." My voice cracks. I crawl forward on shaking limbs, fingers hovering above him before I force them down against his chest. His heart thunders faintly under my palm. Weak. Erratic. But there.
He's alive.
