The bars dissolved on their own. Florian noticed the change, but his mind barely registered it—something far more urgent demanded his attention.
He had to get to Riona. From a distance, she looked lifeless, and it would have been easy to assume the worst. But Florian refused to believe she was dead. He couldn't.
He dashed forward, slipping a hand beneath her neck. Gently—achingly so—he lifted her head and rested it on his lap, brushing the hair from her face with trembling fingers. Her right arm dangled unnaturally at her side. The angle was wrong. Too wrong. He examined it and found it broken. Just like her leg.
"No…" The word tore from him in a hoarse whisper.
His fingertips traced the line of her jaw as tears fell onto her cheek, each drop a small surrender to despair. "Riona, wake up," he pleaded, his voice cracking.
He pulled her close, clutching her limp form to his chest. Rocking back and forth, he wailed—low, raw, and guttural—like a wounded animal.
