At first, the river was a miracle.
The survivors stumbled down the cracked slope like starved animals, some collapsing at the banks, plunging their hands into the current without hesitation. Children laughed weakly as they splashed the cool water onto blistered faces. Men who had marched in silence for days fell to their knees and wept as the mud soaked their trousers.
For a moment, the camp breathed.
Aria sank to her knees beside Kael's stretcher, dipping her hand into the water. It was shockingly cold, numbing her skin until she hissed through her teeth. She cupped her palm and pressed it gently to his lips. His mouth parted instinctively, swallowing the drops as though even unconsciousness could not keep him from life's pull.
Her throat tightened. Relief, raw and painful, cracked her chest. "Stay," she whispered. "Please, stay."
The mark shifted against her ribs, restless. They all cling to water as though it will wash them clean. But there is no cleansing what you are.
