Page 40 of Angel of Ruin

The ground rushes up to meet us. I'm dimly aware of gasps and shouts from above, but I tune them out. Nothing matters except catching her.

My fingers brush her arm. Almost there. With a final burst of speed, I wrap my arms around her, cradling her against my chest. I snap my wings open, the sudden resistance jarring my shoulders. We're mere feet from the ground when I manage to pull up, my wings straining with the effort.

I land hard, my knees buckling as I clutch Lyra to me. Her head lolls against my shoulder, blood matting her blonde hair. Guilt crashes over me like a tidal wave. I did this. My sabotage, my tricks - they caused this.

"Lyra," I whisper, brushing hair from her face. "Little nexari, wake up. Please."

She doesn't stir. Panic claws at my throat. What have I done?

I cradle Lyra's limp body against my chest, her blood seeping into my tunic. My wings ache from the strain of catching her, but I ignore the pain. It's nothing compared to what she's endured.

"Hold on, little nexari," I murmur, my voice raw with emotion I can't suppress. "Just hold on."

I rush through the corridors, pushing past gawking spectators and fellow xaphan. Their shocked faces blur as I focus solely on getting Lyra to the medical wing. Her shallow breaths ghost against my neck, each one a reminder of how close I came to losing her.

The memory of her fall replays in my mind, tormenting me with every step. I see her phantom wings fail, her body twisting in the air as she plummets. The terror in her eyes as she realizes what's happening. And worst of all, the knowledge that I caused this. My sabotage, my tricks - they nearly killed her.

"I'm sorry," I choke out, though I know she can't hear me. "I'm so fucking sorry, Lyra."

I burst into the medical wing, startling the healers. "Help her!" I demand, my voice cracking.

They oblige, though begrudgingly, their faces twisted with doubt and concern. I can see the uncertainty in their eyes, the way they exchange glances that speak volumes.

"We'll…do what we can," one of them mutters as I lay her down on a nearby bed. And the way she says it…

They're unsure if she'll survive her injuries, and that knowledge settles like lead in my gut. I want to shake them, demand they do more, but I know they're already doing everything they can. The weight of my actions crashes down on me anew. If Lyra doesn't make it, her blood is on my hands.

The guilt is insurmountable.

But worse is the pain from the thought of going on without her.

I pace the medical wing like a caged animal, my wings twitching with barely contained anxiety. The healers work on Lyra, their hands glowing with magic as they attempt to mend her broken body. I can't tear my eyes away from her pale face, willing her to open those deep blue eyes.

"Work faster," I snarl at a healer who pauses to wipe sweat from his brow.

He flinches but resumes his task, fear evident in his eyes. I don't care. Let them fear me. As long as they save her.

I'm almost shocked that they didn't fight me more. I'm sure they have orders not to help the humans, but I don't care. I would force them if I had to.

I'd do whatever it takes for my little nexari.

Hours pass. My legs ache from standing, but I refuse to sit. I won't leave her side. Not now. Not ever again.

"Sariel," one of the senior healers approaches me cautiously. "We've done all we can for now. Her injuries were... severe."

I grab him by the collar, lifting him off his feet. "Then do more," I growl, my voice low and dangerous. "If she dies, so do you. All of you."

The healer nods frantically, and I drop him. He scurries back to Lyra's bedside, barking orders at his subordinates. Good. Let them work themselves to exhaustion. As long as she lives.

Night falls, but I remain vigilant. Some overseers filter in, but I snarl at them to leave. Even as they ask why I'm here, why I stopped it.

All the other humans are dead.

Their taunts don't even register with me. It's the fact that Lyra could be one, too, that she's not fully healed or even guaranteed to survive after the injuries she's sustained. That keeps me on edge, snapping at everyone to get out and leaving the other xaphan laughing as they do.

I ignore their stares, their judgment. Let them talk. Nothing matters except the rise and fall of Lyra's chest.

I pull a chair close to her bed, taking her small hand in mine. It's cool to the touch, and I find myself rubbing it gently, trying to warm it.