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Rowena held out the bowl, and I let the drops fall, darkening the Aetheris leaves as they hit. Something about the way the herb absorbed the blood felt wrong and unnatural, but I didn’t pull away.

“More?” I asked, watching the blood drip into the bowl, but never filling it.

“Yes,” Rowena nodded. “I know this must be unpleasant…”

I didn’t say anything to that. It didn’t hurt. At least not as much as I thought it would. It was merely, as she said, unpleasant.

I had no idea how long the blood kept dripping, but I knew that at one point, I started to feel lightheaded. I was grateful for the fact that I was seated. Otherwise, I fear I would have fainted.

“That’s enough,” Rowena finally said.

She began grinding the leaves, her hands sure and practiced, as Kael added powders and oils from his pack. The scent grew stronger, thicker. Those were herbs and earth, but also something sharp, metallic. Magic.

In the meantime, Lucas took my hand in his, his touch achingly gentle despite the tension humming through him. Histhumb brushed just below the cut, careful not to press too hard. Still, even that slight contact sent a sting through my palm. I flinched, and his grip immediately loosened.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice low, rough.

I shook my head. “It’s fine.”

But he didn’t look convinced. His dark eyes stayed locked on the wound, his brows pulled tight. He reached for the cloth Rowena had left beside us, dipping it into a bowl of water.

I watched as he wrung it out, his hands steady even though I could feel the storm brewing inside him. It was in the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw ticked.

“You don’t have to fuss over me,” I said softly.

He ignored me, pressing the damp cloth to my palm. The coolness dulled the sting, and I let out a shaky breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

His eyes flicked up to mine. “Let me take care of you. Just this once.”

Just this once.

Like he didn’t already do it constantly. Like every single look, every word, every time he stepped between me and danger wasn’t him taking care of me. Protecting me.

I swallowed hard and nodded.

He worked quickly, cleaning the blood and dirt away, his movements precise but tender. The way he touched me, like I might break, but also like he knew I wouldn’t, sent warmth spreading through my chest.

When he was done, he wrapped my hand in a strip of clean cloth, tying it off carefully. His fingers lingered, still holding mine long after the bandage was in place.

“I hate this,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“What?”

“That you keep getting hurt.” He looked up, and the rawness in his eyes nearly undid me. He didn’t care that we were alone. “That I can’t stop it.”

I squeezed his hand, ignoring the ache in my palm. “You can’t protect me from everything, Lucas.”

“I’ll die trying.”

His words hung heavy between us.

Suddenly, the bowl in Rowena’s hands began to glow faintly, a soft red pulse that mirrored the beating of my own heart.

“Good,” Rowena said, her voice low, reverent. “It’s working.”

Kael poured the mixture into a small vial, sealing it tightly. He held it up, his expression dark.

“This is it,” he said. “Our only shot.”