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I cradled Lexa in my arms, her body limp and cold against my chest, wrapped in every blanket we had left. Her breathing was shallow, her skin like ice, the last rune on her back pulsing with sick, fragile light.

I barked the order before the outpost gates were even behind us. “Ride ahead. The fastest horse. Tell them she’s coming. Every healer, every fire lit—I want the room ready when we arrive.”

One of the soldiers rode hard into the rising sun, vanishing down the ridge trail toward the citadel.

Inside the carriage, it was too quiet. Garrick sat across from me, watching with barely concealed worry, but said nothing at first. He didn’t need to. Everything was written in the way he looked at her.

“She’ll fight,” he finally murmured, trying to offer something like comfort. “She’s stronger than—”

“She told me this would happen.” My voice was low, frayed. “She warned me. And I brushed it off.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I should have.” My fingers curled tighter around her. “I should’ve listened.”

The journey back was a blur of snow and fire and the frantic beat of my own heart. When we reached the citadel, the gates opened in seconds. The healers were already waiting, the guards parting like water as I leapt from the carriage with Lexa still in my arms.

“To my chambers,” I shouted, voice booming. “Now. Stoke the fires. Boil water. I want her warm before another minute passes. If she dies—” My voice cracked. “—I will hold every one of you responsible.”

The healers scattered, moving quickly, lifting her from my arms with reverence, as if afraid she might shatter. I turned to follow them when something caught my eye—movement in the shadows just beyond the entryway. A small figure, barely more than a blur.

I stopped cold.

Dain.

He stood tucked between two pillars, eyes wide and glistening, face pale and streaked with tears. His little fists were clenched, his bottom lip trembling.

He’d heard everything. He’d seen.

I crossed to him in three strides and crouched down, my voice raw. “Dain.”

He looked up, lip quivering. “Is she… is Lexa going to die?”

The words felt like a blade through the ribs. I reached out slowly, pulling him against me, his tiny arms latching around my neck like he was afraid I’d vanish too. I held him tight.

“You're not leaving,”I whispered into that broken bond, to the unconscious woman being rushed down the hall. The words were broken, furious, begging. “You hear me, Lexa? You’re not fucking leaving me. Not now.”

Dain’s head pressed against my shoulder, silent and trembling, and I clutched him tighter.

CHAPTER 23

Andros

Hours passed.

The sun had long vanished behind the mountains again, and the warmth it promised that morning was nothing but a fading ghost. The citadel had quieted, the frantic rush of commands and preparations giving way to a tense, waiting silence. Lexa still hadn’t woken.

I stayed by her side for as long as I could bear, until Dain’s soft voice tugged at my arm, heavy with sleep, whispering that he didn’t want to be alone.

I carried him back to my chambers, helped him curl up in the center of my bed, and pulled the furs over his small body. He was asleep within minutes, face peaceful despite the dried salt from tears still crusted beneath his eyes.

I sat beside him for a while, watching his chest rise and fall, listening to the crackle of the fire. But sleep wouldn’t come. Notto me.

Not whileshewas still locked somewhere between life and whatever waited beyond it.

So I left Dain in the quiet warmth of the room and walked the long corridor back to the healing wing. The halls felt colder now. Emptier.

When I stepped into her chamber, one of the elder healers rose from a nearby chair, bowing his head respectfully. He was an older man, one of the few in the citadel I actually trusted.