Kael paced across the floor of his room, every step sending sharp jolts of pain through his body. The healers had warned him that he wasn't ready to be on his feet yet, but he couldn't afford to wait any longer. Every minute spent resting was another minute that Marcus had Lyra, another minute that could mean her suffering.
His hand tightened into a fist as he thought of her, of the fear in her eyes when Marcus had dragged her away. He had promised to protect her, to keep her safe, and he had failed. The thought of what Marcus might be doing to her—what he might be saying to her—gnawed at him like a festering wound.
He couldn't sit idle. He had to act.
Garren stood at the doorway, his arms crossed as he watched Kael with a mixture of concern and frustration. "You're not ready, Kael," he said for the hundredth time. "If you go after her like this, you won't survive."
