Cassian — POV
Sarafina's weight was too light in my arms.
That was the first thing I realized.
The second was that she wasn't unconscious—she was drained,
like something had pulled the life straight out of her veins and left only the shell behind.
I held her closer as I moved through the darkened hallway, boots crunching over fallen debris. My pulse hammered—not from the fight, not from the hunters still swarming the building.
But from her.
Her breathing was shallow.
Her lips were pale.
Her pulse flickered like a dying spark against my fingertips.
And Alistair was coming.
Fast.
I heard the snarl before I felt the footsteps.
The hybrid was tearing through the remaining hunters like they were paper, rage radiating off him in waves so violent the air vibrated.
Perfect.
Just what she didn't need.
I tightened my hold on her and pushed into the stairwell. I needed to get her away from all this—far away, somewhere quiet, somewhere she could sleep without collapsing the building.
But before I made it down the first flight—
He appeared.
Alistair rounded the corner so fast the air cracked.
Blood smeared his jaw.
His shirt was torn.
His eyes—normally cold and distant—were burning.
And they were fixed on her.
Not me.
Never me.
Only her.
"Give. Her. To me."
His voice was a threat wearing the shape of words.
I stepped back a single pace, tightening my grip. "You're bleeding everywhere, you idiot. You'll scare her."
"She's unconscious."
"Because something ripped through her," I shot back. "And you think walking in like a feral nightmare will help?"
His lips curled. "You think you know what helps her? You?"
I exhaled once, slow. "Yes."
His jaw twitched.
He took one step forward.
Just one.
But it was enough to make every instinct in my body flare in warning.
Not because I feared him— because she didn't need this.
Not now.
Not another battle.
Not two men tearing at each other while she hung limp between them.
"She needs quiet," I said. "Not whatever storm is living inside you."
"You took her."
Alistair's voice cracked at the edges, like he was barely holding himself together.
"She was alone and you—you took her."
"She would've stopped breathing if I hadn't."
That made him freeze.
Good.
A crack in the armor.
But it didn't last.
His eyes darkened again, and he moved—fast, too fast—closing the distance between us in a blur.
I shifted to shield her, angling her body away from him.
His arm shot out, grabbing my shoulder.
"Give. Her. Back."
I met his stare, calm and even. "Alistair, if you touch her right now—"
He yanked.
The force nearly pulled her from my arms.
I shoved him—hard—his back slamming into the stairwell wall.
He bared his fangs.
I felt heat curl under my skin.
"You're not thinking," I said. "You're panicking."
"Because she's—"
His voice cracked again, barely audible.
"—hurting."
A knife to my ribs would have been easier to hear.
I shook my head. "Then don't add to it."
His chest rose and fell in irregular, ragged breaths.
A wolf trying to decide whether to bite or collapse.
But calm wasn't going to win here.
Not with him.
Not tonight.
So I said the one thing I knew would snap him fully:
"You're scaring her."
"I would never—"
"You already are."
His eyes widened—pain, fury, guilt all crashing together.
And then the hybrid in him broke loose.
He lunged.
I twisted away, bracing Sarafina carefully against my chest with one arm as my other fist caught him across the jaw.
He staggered.
Recovered.
Slashed forward with inhuman speed.
I turned my body, letting his strike hit the railing instead of her. Sparks flew as metal dented inward.
He snarled.
I stepped back, positioning myself defensively.
"This isn't about me," I said. "This is about her. She can't hear us fight. She can't even stand on her own."
"I felt her," he growled, voice shaking. "I felt her break."
He struck again.
I dodged, keeping her safe.
"You weren't there," I said quietly.
That hit him harder than any punch.
His breathing shattered.
For a moment—just a moment—his rage cracked into something raw and agonizing.
"I should have been," he whispered.
"Yes," I said. "You should have."
He collapsed against the railing, head bowed, hands trembling.
Not from weakness.
From terror.
My voice softened—barely. "Alistair… look at her."
He did.
Her hair fell across her cheek.
Her body curled instinctively toward warmth.
Her breathing uneven.
Alistair's fury vanished.
All that remained was, devotion—terrifying, consuming, absolute.
He swallowed hard.
"She's… she's slipping."
"I know."
"I can't—" He pressed a hand against the wall to steady himself. "I can't lose her again."
My throat tightened.
Because neither could I.
A long silence stretched between us.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
True.
Then—
Her fingers twitched against my shirt.
Alistair inhaled sharply.
I adjusted my hold, voice low. "We need to get her somewhere safe. Now. Before the next squad shows up."
Alistair lifted his head, eyes burning—but not with anger anymore.
With resolve.
"Together," he said.
I hesitated.
He took a step forward—not threatening this time—and placed one trembling hand on her ankle. Barely touching. Barely breathing.
"I'm not letting her out of my sight again."
I exhaled.
"Fine."
Relief broke across his face so subtly most would miss it.
But I didn't.
"Help me carry her," I said.
He nodded.
And for the first time since this nightmare began—
we moved in the same direction.
Not as enemies.
But as two men who would die before letting her fall again.