After scattering the tires around the sanctuary, Lyerin stood back and surveyed his work.
The charred rubber still hissed and crackled, releasing tendrils of smoke that curled up into the air.
The sanctuary—a dilapidated, abandoned warehouse—offered little in terms of comfort, but it was the safest place he could find for Corora and the girls.
Lyerin wiped the sweat from his brow, the gritty dirt on his hands smearing across his skin.
The task had been grueling, but necessary.
He glanced at Corora, who sat huddled with the other girls in a corner of the sanctuary.
Their faces were pale, eyes wide with fear and exhaustion.
Lyerin forced a smile, masking the gnawing worry that festered inside him. He wasn't strong enough. Not yet. And Corora—she was too weak to be of any use now. But he couldn't let her see that. She needed hope, not the harsh reality.
