Sometimes you win the battle but lose the advantage.
The medical wing smelled like antiseptic and blood.
My thumb had been reset. Painful. Necessary. Now splinted and throbbing with every heartbeat. The medic said six weeks minimum before full function returned.
Six weeks we didn't have.
Lyra's leg was wrapped. Sprained ankle. Not broken but not combat-ready either. Minimum two weeks before she could run properly.
Marcus's shoulder was stitched. The bullet graze wasn't deep but infection was always a risk. Antibiotics prescribed. Careful monitoring required.
Around us, other students nursed their own injuries from the campus defense. Broken bones. Lacerations. One concussion. Two students in serious condition but stable.
Nobody died.
That fact felt like both victory and curse. We'd survived. But survival came with a price list we were still calculating.
Through the bond, Darius sent his location. Command center. Waiting for me. The full damage assessment ready.
