Page 10 of Scorched By Fate

Her head snapped up at the movement, dark eyes flicking toward me. For a second, relief flickered across her face, subdued but unmistakable. “That was fast.”

“Done ahead of schedule.” The words came out sharper than I meant, their edge sinking into the air between us. My claws flexed against the tool wrap. “Are the healers still alive?”

She gave me that tight, no-nonsense look, the one that made it annoyingly difficult to shake her off. “Barely,” she said, her tone clipped but calm. Her hands reached out as I lowered the bundle onto the table.

She unwrapped the tools with care, fingers running over each one like she was memorizing their shapes. The forceps, the scalpel, the retractors. Her focus stayed on the metal, her lips pressed into a line of concentration.

“These are …” Her voice trailed off before she glanced up at me again. “This is … good.”

I didn’t reply. The gratitude in her tone should’ve been satisfying. It wasn’t.

I wanted more.

Her fingers lingered over the scalpel, testing its balance, its weight. She set it down carefully, her eyes finally lifting to mine.

“You didn’t have to deliver these yourself,” she said, and there was no accusation in her voice. Only curiosity.

“I needed to stretch my legs,” I muttered, crossing my arms. My own excuse felt weak, even to my ears.

Her gaze narrowed, assessing me in a way that turned the air between us heavier than the forge’s heat. She nodded, an arch of her brow betraying amusement. “Thank you, really. But you need to leave now.”

I snorted. “So soon?”

Her expression was grave. “Whatever this is, it spreads fast.”

That brief flicker of relief was gone. Now it was all focus again, all energy coiled into tension she wouldn’t let herself release. Watching her was like watching an arrow pulled back too tightly against its bowstring.

I should’ve turned and left. I didn’t.

Instead, I stepped closer, forcing her to look up again. My claws tapped once—twice—on the edge of the table. “If you're short on hands, I’ll help.”

Her eyes widened, only for a moment before she tilted her head back to that same assessing stare. “We have this under control for now.”

I was close enough now to pick out the scent clinging to her again. Krysfruit soap. Smoke laced within it. Something sharper, too, adrenaline-laced, lingering just above her skin. The ache I’d melted into the tools roared back, uncontained.

I wanted to argue. I had no business here, nothing but rudimentary knowledge of how to treat wounds in the field. But I spotted at least half of the humans in Scalvaris tending to Drakarn, and exhaustion was dragging at each and every one of them.

If they didn't find a way to treat this illness soon, they'd be the ones in need of help.

"Let me know if you need more tools," I said. As if that was sufficient.

Selene nodded, and I was dismissed.

When I stepped back into the tunnels, the air shifted again. Colder. Stale. Yet I still swore I could taste her on every inhale, as if leaving the caverns hadn't been enough to escape the burn.

The council was restless.And scared.

Never a good combination.

Mektar stood near the central table, wings tucked tight against his back, his shadow sharp. Zarvash lingered at the far end, hunched over one of his maps as always, his claws tapping idly against the surface. Khorlar’s broad frame towered over the others, his stone-gray scales making him an even grimmer fixture against the firelit backdrop. Darrokar and Rath spoke to one another in hushed tones.

I didn’t like the stiffness in the room. It promised nothing good.

Mektar didn’t waste time.

"The humans," he snarled, voice low and biting. His midnight-blue scales caught silver streaks from the heat crystals as his tail jerked behind him, one curved claw tapping in measured strokes against the stone. "Their presence. Their interference. And now, their poison."

I stiffened. My claws curled at my sides, but I forced restraint into my voice. "Poison?"

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