We touch down twenty minutes later. I flex my hands and forearms. The scar in my bicep where Anna shot me is pinging with pain, but I ignore it. I’ll suffer when I’m dead.
Elyssa is sweaty, trembling, and pale. “You good?” I ask her.
She swallows, stiffens her lip, and nods. “Fine. Stop asking. Let’s go.”
I turn, stifling a smile. I like her like this. Fiery. Out of her shell. A f*****g warrior princess, unafraid of battle.
I take her hand in mine and we start the long trek towards the gate. Neither of us says a word for the whole walk. The pressure of our intertwined fingers is all the reassurance we need.
When we reach the final dune separating us from the guard’s eyeline, I pause. “You ready?”
“I told you to stop asking me that,” she snaps. Then she softens into a soft smile. “But
