In an instant, he was on his knees, hands scrabbling through slick foliage, grasping at anything to halt his downward slide. Dragonfly cried out. Nic shouted a warning. But it was too late.
And then—an arm.
Uriah caught him by the elbow, steadying him with unexpected strength. In the pale shimmer of moonlight, the bruise around Uriah’s eye looked particularly cruel.
Collin exhaled a sharp breath of relief. His palms throbbed. Wet leaves clung to his skin. He released the shrubs he’d grabbed in desperation and let Uriah pull him upright.
Collin and Dragonfly emerged at the edge of the village square—and froze.
Nesaea was gone.
The square was a graveyard of fire and smoke. Buildings—what remained of them—burned from within, collapsing in flickers of orange and ash. A woman with golden hair lay sprawled on the cobbles, her throat cleanly slit. By the barn, a man pressed trembling hands to a gaping wound in his gut. Death waited at his shoulder. A little girl, blood smeared across her face, clutched a doll and screamed for her mother.
Farther along, a row of villagers knelt with their hands bound behind their backs—silent, slack-faced, condemned.
Then—Uriah stumbled into view, Logan close behind, both pale with horror. When Logan caught sight of the burning cabin, he let out a strangled scream and lunged forward. Uriah grabbed him around the waist, wrestling him back.
Collin couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. The panic was written in every movement. That cabin—was it Logan’s? Was someone still inside?
The square churned with terror. Gravis and Niall limped in from the far side, Gravis half-slumped against Niall. Nic and Clive were binding prisoners. A frantic dog barked furiously from somewhere nearby. A cow burst past them, rope dangling from its neck.
Then Logan broke free.
He swung wildly and caught Uriah in the face. Uriah hit the ground with a shriek, blood pouring from his nose. Logan sprinted for the fire.
Collin barely thought. He saw Tate charging after Logan, sword drawn, and let go of Dragonfly’s hand. Lumen flashedfrom its sheath. He ran, faster than he thought his legs would carry him.
He would not let Logan face this alone.
Just before Logan reached the flames, a figure launched from the shadows—Niall. He tackled Logan midstride. The two slammed into the ground, dust and straw exploding around them.
A cry split the air.
Collin spun. In Logan’s frenzy, the prisoners had turned.
Nic and Clive were under siege. Clive lay on his side, unmoving, eyes shut, lips slack. Nic was still fighting—barely. One man pinned him to the dirt, hammering fists into his neck and jaw. Another yanked his arms back, binding him.
Nic choked out a groan. Blood bubbled from the corner of his mouth. He was losing. He was disappearing beneath fists and fury.
On the far end of the square, Captain Owen and his guards surged forward, blades drawn—but they were too far.
Collin’s lungs burned. Time twisted. The square screamed. And Nic was still being beaten—mercilessly, endlessly—as if pain alone could settle the dead.
Collin was paralyzed—torn in two.
Nic was being brutalized, pummeled into the dirt. Logan, unarmed, was stumbling straight toward a sword.
Collin hesitated.
For one second too long, he didn’t know where to go.
Logan and Niall were still locked in a struggle—not against each other, but against the fire. Niall was trying to hold Logan back from the flames. The house was fully ablaze, fire leaping from windows and roof. No one inside could have survived.
Then Tate arrived.
Steel rang out like thunder tearing through sky. Niall’s blade clashed with the guard’s, the brutal rhythm of their duelrising over the square. Logan collapsed to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably, as the fight raged just feet away. He didn’t seem to notice.
With Niall defending Logan, Collin spun and sprinted toward Nic and Clive.
