Back in the fortress
Stefan's wrists burned every time he moved.
The rope had cut deep into his skin, and the blood from his wrists had already dried once before fresh blood soaked through again. He was no longer pulling because he believed he could snap the rope. He was pulling because keeping still felt worse, because every scream from the battlefield reminded him that his body was useless while his ability sat trapped behind the metal collar locked around his neck.
Beside him, Enzo remained on his knees, his eyes fixed on the broken barricade ahead.
The monsters were already inside the western line.
Soldiers were no longer standing in neat rows behind the barricades. They were scattered between overturned trucks, burning metal, broken concrete, and monster corpses, firing wherever they could find space while officers shouted over one another to keep the retreat from becoming a stampede.
