"No—let me go! Dante, let me go!"
Liora's scream traveled through the clearing, sharp enough to make the crows scatter from the trees. Her nails clawed at the ground, dragging streaks through the dirt as Dante held her from behind, his arms locked around her trembling body.
"Liora, stop—please, stop!" he begged, voice raw. "You can't help them anymore! They're gone!"
"Don't you dare say that!" she wailed, thrashing violently. "They're my family, Dante! Let me go to them! Let me—"
Her voice broke into a choked sob. Her knees buckled, and she would have collapsed if he hadn't caught her.
Elira stood a few feet away, her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide and hollow. She couldn't move. Couldn't speak. The air around them felt poisoned, thick with the metallic scent of blood.
She stared at the still bodies scattered across the clearing—their faces pale, their lifeless eyes fixed on the rising sun.
