The forest floor was a gruesome tableau of torn earth, ripped foliage, and the metallic tang of blood. Eleanor knelt beside Michael, his face pale against the blood oozing from a gaping gash across his chest. Panic threatened to consume her again, but she forced her hands to stay steady as she pressed her hands against the wound.
Jacob, his own face streaked with grime and sweat, paced by in a restless circle. Abigael, usually a force of vibrant energy, stood frozen at the edge of the clearing, her eyes locked on her brother's face. Her lips moved silently, forming words that never escaped her throat. The fight with the Deucalion had taken its toll on them all, but the sight of Michael, so vulnerable was tearing Abigael apart.
