𝐂𝐘𝐑𝐔𝐒
The rendezvous point was a service corridor two levels up, wide enough to accommodate Kaleb's shifted form.
He was already there when Caius and I arrived. His massive black wolf blocked the passage, jaws clamped around the throats of three unconscious prisoners. His eyes tracked our approach with cold calculation—the kind that usually preceded a massacre.
Zayne materialized from a side passage moments later, his suit pristine despite the chaos we'd left in our wake. Then Rafayel appeared.
Aurora was slung over his shoulder, limp as a corpse.
My stomach dropped.
She looked like death warmed over—skin pale as bleached bone, lips cracked and bleeding, her clothes soaked through with sweat. But what made my chest constrict was the fact that she wasn't healing. The blisters on her hands and arms remained angry and raw, the kind of damage that should have closed over by now.
Zayne noticed immediately.
