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Selis stayed kneeling among the rubble, her arms still wrapped around Lucian's trembling form. The city's acrid smoke stung her eyes, but she refused to wipe away the tears; they were too honest, too raw to hide. Every scream, every collapse of stone, every distant cry of dying civilians cut through her like shards of glass. And yet, she couldn't let go of him—not even when she knew she should.
Lucian's head lolled against her shoulder, his breaths shallow and uneven. Each inhalation brought a wheeze, each exhalation a tremor. His fingers twitched weakly, as if trying to reach for something, anything, that might give him strength. She could feel the heat of his blood on her skin, smell the iron, and it was like holding fire itself. Pain, fury, and despair radiated off him in waves, even in his near-death state, and Selis pressed closer, as if proximity alone could shield him from the world she had failed.
