The medical wing smells of ozone, crushed lavender, and the sharp, metallic tang of scorched magic.
It is a smell I have come to associate with the aftermath of miracles.
I stand at the foot of the central recovery bed, my hands gripping the cold steel railing until my knuckles turn white. Beside me, Kade is a statue carved from grief and exhaustion. His physical body is perfectly still, but through the permanent merge, I can feel his mind screaming. It is a chaotic, jagged storm of guilt, terror, and a profound, suffocating love for the man lying in the bed.
Kieran.
Our Beta. Our brother. The man who spent three years in exile watching over us from the shadows.
He looks impossibly pale. The deep, rich olive tone of his skin has faded to a waxy gray. His dark hair is plastered to his
