Page 75 of Golden Star

Blood pulses slowly from a deep gash, the dark red stark against her pale skin.

My stomach twists at the sight, growling, takingthisout of all moments to remind me that I’m getting hungry again.

“It’s not great,” she says, wincing as she tries to adjust her arm.

“Maybe there’s something I can do.” I hold my hand over the wound and glance down at the snow. “I wonder if I can put snow onto your arm and use it to somehow heal the cut?” I ask. “Freeze it, sort of like theopposite of what people do when they cauterize a wound?”

“This isn’t like using magic on a pair ofboots,”she snaps. “It’s my arm. If you mess up and freeze my blood, I could die.”

Whatever I was about to say dies in my throat.

“Sorry,” I say instead. “I didn’t mean… well, I was just trying to help.”

“We need to slow the bleeding,” she says, sounding calmer now, already moved on to her next thought. “Use your shirt. Tear off a strip of it and make a tourniquet.”

“Sure. Okay.”

My hands tremble as I grab the bottom of my shirt and tear off a strip of fabric. The cold stings against my exposed skin, but it’s nothing compared to the sight of Zoey’s blood soaking through her ripped sleeve. It’s getting all over my hands, and it smells just like the perfume she always wears. Spicy, with a hint of chocolate.

“Wrap it above the wound,” she instructs. “Pull it tight.”

I loop the fabric around her arm just above the gash and twist it hard.

She sucks in a sharp breath, eyes squeezing shut as her knuckles whiten. “Good, just like that,” she says, more to herself than to me, continuing to give instructions about what to do.

I follow as best as I can, focusing on the practical—the tangible—instead of on the panic racing through my mind and the hunger rolling through my stomach.

“How do you know how to do this?” I ask her.

“I watched a lot of medical dramas when I was younger,” she says. “You’re doing great. Almost done.”

“It’s holding,” I say, exhaling as the blood slows beneath the makeshift bandage.

“Nice work, field medic.” Zoey tries for a grin, but winces instead.

I offer a shaky smile in return, the tension in my chest refusing to ease. “I might be the medic, but you’re clearly the doctor,” I say, which is enough to earn a chuckle from her.

My eyes drop to her arm again, reassessing. It’s stable, but not for long. Eventually the fabric will soak through.

She looks me over as well.

“You didn’t get hit once, did you?” she asks.

“I did.” I touch where claws and crystal beaks grazed me, but of course, there’s nothing. Only smooth skin beneath ripped fabric. “It just already healed.”

Zoey’s jaw tenses, and she stares at my unscathed skin as I wipe her blood off my hands, deep in thought. “That was fast,” she says, and then she snaps back to it, as if nothing even happened. “Now, let’s get to that treebefore I start bleeding too badly again. Were you able to see it from above?”

“I did.” I squeeze her uninjured shoulder lightly. “We’re close.”

“Good,” she says, and she pushes herself up with her good arm to stand, brushing off my help as she does. “Lead the way.”

I do another sweep of the area, relieved when nothing else attacks, then use the stars as guides to point us southeast toward the tree.

Zoey leans on me more and more as we walk, her steps slower, heavier. Each labored breath of hers cuts through me, a reminder that every second counts.

“You good?” I ask, glancing sideways at her.

She musters a thin smile. “Been better,” she says, trying for lightness, but sounding winded instead. “Keep going.”

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