Kira's pov
The med bay walls were too white.
Too sterile. Too quiet.
Nothing like the battlefield of whispers and betrayal that raged just beyond its reinforced doors.
I sat propped against the cot's headboard, ribs bandaged tight, an IV drip clinging to my arm like a parasite. Every breath came with a pinch. Every blink, a memory I wished I could scrub clean.
But I wasn't looking at the machines or the nurse scribbling on her chart. I was watching the window.
From this angle, I could see the training yard. The tension unfolding like a slow-burning fuse.
Draven stood near the barracks, posture coiled with a commander's control,but his eyes… his eyes were fixed on Eira.
And not just watching.
Guarding.
Claiming.
Ten paces from him stood Malrik, all calm swagger and veiled amusement. He looked like he'd stepped out of a war-torn painting,dust still clinging to his boots, a smug curve pulling at his mouth. And he was watching her too.
But not like Draven.
