Focus.
Leaning in, I forced my breathing to steady as I examined the wound more closely, mapping it out in my head. Air to seal the internal damage. Fire to cauterize. It needed to be precise. Controlled.
I could do that. I had to.
Two fingers pressed just above the wound as I pushed my magic forward, but… nothing.
My brow furrowed.
I tried again, harder this time, reaching deeper to force it out, and still nothing.
My chest tightened.
Flattening my palm against her skin, I tried harder, seeing if the contact alone might bridge whatever was blocking me. Air. Fire. I reached for both, forcing them out again, and still… Nothing.
The blood kept coming in rivets, falling down the side of her body and onto the couch, making the pool wider.
Sharp pressure built behind my eyes, the first sting of tears blurring my vision as the realization slammed into place.
She was my flame, the one person my magic would never touch. Would never harm, but could never save.
“No…” The word scraped out this time, low and broken.
My fingers curled into the cushions beside her, knuckles whitening as something twisted violently in my chest. I’d just found her. Just… felt her.
I couldn’t lose her. Not like this. Not ever.
My gaze snapped up, mind racing, clawing for anything, any solution, and landed on the only answer that made sense.
Calix.
The thought hit hard and immediate. The way he’d looked at her. The way something had shifted in him. He could do it. He could turn her.
My jaw clenched as the implications crashed in behind it. The logical side of myself yelled at the frantic, desperate side.
If he turns her, he’ll be her maker. A maker's bond is deep and irreplaceable.
No matter how Calix was raised, he’s not into sharing someone.
Her transition will be hard because she’s already lost a lot of blood, and Calix will need more blood in order to feed it to her.
All the fragmented thoughts circled, but in the end it didn’t matter. None of it mattered if she didn’t survive the next few minutes.
I scooped her back into my arms, holding her tighter this time, and her head lolled against my shoulder.
Across the room, Lark hovered, hands twisting together so tightly her knuckles had gone pale, her gaze locked on Olivia like she might stop breathing if she looked away. Nathan stood behind her, one hand braced at her shoulder, but his eyes were on me, sharp, wary, a flicker of something uneasy passing through them.
“Go,” I demanded, already moving. “I’ll take care of this.”
I didn’t wait for a response. I pushed past them, heading for the stairs two at a time.
“Are you going to save her?” Lark’s voice cracked behind me, chasing me up the first few steps. “Is she going to be okay?!”
I didn’t slow. Didn’t turn.
My grip tightened around Olivia as I climbed, her weight a constant, terrifying reminder in my arms.
“Yes,” I said, the word leaving like a vow carved in stone. “She’s my flame. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
