Mae knelt beside Jason's unconscious body, her hands trembling. His face was pale—paler than usual—and his skin was hot to the touch. Too hot. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the chill of the dungeon.
She didn't hesitate.
Mae reached for her top, pulling the leather harness aside to expose her breast. Then she squeezed, directing the milk directly from her body into Jason's mouth. Thick, warm, sweet. The same milk that had healed his bruises, his cuts, his exhaustion.
But this time, it wasn't working.
Jason's temperature continued to rise. His breathing grew shallow. His body twitched—small, involuntary spasms that made his fingers curl and uncurl against the stone floor.
"Why isn't it working?" Mae muttered, pressing more milk past his lips. "It should be working."
