"The wounds don't seem to be healing at all. I've stopped the bleeding and done some stitches, but he's not recovering," Keigan said grimly.
I stood beside Raye and Rion, staring at Jeron's still form on the bed. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, the sound of each inhale fragile, like it could be his last.
Keigan sat at his side, his hands folded, the lamplight catching the unnatural colors of his mismatched eyes. He looked tired, far older than usual, as if this single patient was wearing him down more than a dozen others ever had.
Ares and Diaval had left the Undercity last night to search for remedies aboveground. The room felt emptier without them.
"What's worse," Keigan continued, his voice low, "I just discovered why. These wounds… they're laced with an unknown kind of poison. In my decades of existence, I've never seen anything like it before."
