Page 165 of Tears for a Broken Sky
We moved.
None of us said anything.
Even Slade, still pale from the wounds I’d sealed, pushed forward without complaint. My magic had cost him too, though he’d never admit it. His steps were heavy. Uneven.
Only Caelen seemed untouched. He moved through the underbrush with a kind of maddening calm, scanning ahead like this was just another patrol. Like the world wasn’t falling apart around us.
We were making our way toward Velmere through thick scrub and tangled forest. The path—if you could call it that—was nothing but roots and brambles, each step jarring against tired bones.
If Maddie were here, she’d probably find a way to smooth it out. Or light it. Or charm it into something bearable.
But she wasn’t. And part of me was glad.
I hoped she and Leo were safe.
I could still feel the thrum of his energy at the mark on my wrist—steady, pulsing. Alive.
It gave me just enough strength to keep going.
I wished I could reach out. Just for a second. Just to hear his voice.
“So, big guy,” Caelen said, casually sidestepping a low-hanging branch, “how exactly did you survive falling a hundred metres off a cliff?”
Slade shot him a glare. Then glanced at me, as if silently asking if he really had to answer that.
I shrugged. Honestly, I was curious too.
But I wasn’t about to be the asshole who asked.
That was Caelen’s job.
He rolled his eyes and reached into his belt, pulling out a long, familiar dagger.
I stopped in my tracks.
“That’s Elle’s,” I said quietly.
Slade’s expression tightened. For just a second, something pained flickered behind his eyes.
“I know,” he murmured. “She threw it to me… just after Thorne compelled me to jump.”
He turned the blade slowly in his hand, and a small, crooked smile ghosted across his face.
“She saved my life,” he said. “I used the steel to make a grappling hook. Shimmied the rest of the way down.”
“Thorne made you jump?” Caelen asked, his voice suddenly cold.
“That’s not Thorne,” I said quickly. “That’s someone else wearing his skin. There’s no way—”
“It was Thorne,” Slade cut in.
His voice was steady. Simple. But his eyes—gods, his eyes—were pleading with me to understand.
“He’s been twisted,” he said. “Broken. Warped into something else. But it was still him.”
“Slade – “
“He hurt Elira, Phoenix. In front of me. After compelling me.” He said, wearily.
