Estovia Armand's eyes opened slowly, consciousness returning through layers of fog and pain.
She was moving—being carried. No, sitting upright, leaning against something solid. Voices around her, young voices, coordinated and tense.
"—we need to reach the medical bay before those assassins regroup—"
"—Bessia's medical expertise may have stabilized her for now, but she needs proper facilities—"
Estovia tried to speak, managed only a weak rasp that hurt her throat.
"She's awake!" someone called—a female voice, relieved.
A face appeared in Estovia's limited vision. Young. Sixteen, maybe seventeen. Features showing exhaustion and determination in equal measure.
"Lieutenant Armand," the boy said. " Private Bright Morgan at your service. You're safe. For now."
Morgan.
The name triggered recognition through the pain. She had weathered the Grim Hollow disaster with him—or rather, the boy who had become a man far faster than anyone should have. Maturity included.
