Lyra's POV
We rushed through the narrow hallways with purpose and urgency driving our steps.
Silas and Celeste supported Victor between them, his unconscious form a dead weight that made their movements awkward and strained. His head dropped forward with each hurried step, chin nearly touching his chest as they maneuvered around corners.
I stayed close beside them, my hand positioned just inches from Victor's shoulder. Ready to help if they stumbled. Ready to catch him if they lost their grip.
Behind us, Rowena struggled to keep pace. Her footsteps had become irregular, each one landing with less certainty than the last. Something was wrong with her balance.
I turned to check on her progress.
The color had drained from her face again, leaving her skin an alarming shade of gray. Whatever strength the white moss had given her was failing. She pressed her palm flat against the wall, using it as a guide and support.
"You need help," I called back to her.
