Mikhailis took a steadying breath, eyes swiftly moving from one wounded companion to another. His jaw clenched involuntarily, guilt pressing heavily against his chest like a stone. He knelt first beside Rhea, whose face had gone pale beneath a layer of grime. Her breathing was shallow, lips parted and trembling slightly. The dark crimson stain soaking her makeshift bandages had begun to seep onto the bedding beneath her, forming a stark contrast against the pale straw. He reached out gently, pressing his hand lightly to her forehead, noting how clammy and cold her skin felt beneath his fingertips. A surge of worry tightened his chest.
Rodion warned urgently, his voice slicing through Mikhailis's tension with clinical precision.
