The fog didn't pull back far.
It hovered just beyond the burned ground, low and patient, like it had learned something and was waiting to try again. Ash drifted in the air, settling on armor, on hair, on open wounds no one had time to properly clean. They won again after an intense battle.
"Count again," Ilyas said.
A Solaran officer swallowed and checked the slate. "Twelve injured. Three critical. No confirmed dead."
Ilyas just nodded and kept moving.
Ren leaned forward with his hands on his knees, trying to get his breathing under control. Shadow clung to him like sweat now. It was thin, controlled, no longer exploding out of him. It hurt less that way. Still hurt. Just… manageable.
Elara crouched beside him and handed him a flask. "Drink. Slow."
"You're bleeding," Ren said, noticing the tear along her sleeve.
She glanced down. "Yeah. It'll wait."
"It shouldn't," he said, sharper than he meant to.
