Page 94 of Cycle Keeper’s Shadow

“Orzen,” she whispered, touching his cheek. Too cold. She shook his shoulder again. “Wake up. I need you to open your eyes. Please. I can’t make you swallow this unless—”

A groan of protest rasped out of him.

“I’m here,” she said urgently. “But you have to wake up.”

His eyes fluttered open, glazed and rimmed in deep shadows. He squinted against the light. “Feelsso hot,” he slurred. “Only wanna…sleepfor nother…minute.” His eyes slipped closed again.

“No.” Wren slid a hand under his chin, lifting gently. “Look at me, Orzen!” His lashes lifted, eyes blinking open. Still unfocused, but it was enough.

“Good. Now swallow.”

She tipped the waterskin, dripping the sour mix against his lips. He coughed, sputtering. Water dribbled down his chin.

“Gods,” he rasped, “tastes horrible.”

Her laugh burst out, brittle and breathless with relief. “You’re alive enough to complain,” she said. “Which means you’re alive enough to drink the rest.”

He took it in small sips until the waterskin was empty. Then he blinked again. When he looked up at her, his warm brown eyes lingered on hers. Gratitude shone plainly enough, but beneath it was an aching softness she couldn’t bear to examine—not today.

Across the clearing, Silas stood in the dying smoke, observing. He didn’t speak, didn’t even shift his weight. Only when Wren looked up did he lower his gaze, though he was clearly still listening.

“Seems like I keep waking up to you healing me.” Orzen’s voice scratched like dry leaves.

A shaky laugh almost broke from her but it caught in her throat. This time, all she could see was Tavrin screaming as the forest took him.

Somehow, Orzen had ended up ahead of her—and nearly died because of it. Relief curdled in her chest. She couldn’t reach for him without brushing the raw edge of Tavrin’s loss…or the fear of how close she’d come to losing him, too.

“I wouldn’t have to keep healing you,” she said finally, her voice flat, “if you stopped putting yourself in dangerous situations.”

The barb clung between them—cruel and unfair.

“I was following you. I was trying to catch up,” Orzen said quickly. Then he shook his head like he couldn’t focus. “Something…odd. I got stuck here. You were there. You looked right at me…”

His eyes widened, fear honing the edges. “It wasn’t you.”

“Of course it wasn’t me!” She clenched the whisperstone, holding it up like evidence. “You didn’t use the stone?”

“I didn’t think to.” His expression faltered, and he shook his head like he couldn’t make sense of his own words. “Why would I when you were right there, running into the woods?”

“I didn’t run into the woods!” she snapped. “A Witherborn grabbed me.” The words tasted like bile.

He stared at her, open-mouthed, words breaking when they reached his lips. “I…I tried.”

Something in her chest gave way. The anger, the fear, his frantic need to explain—none of it mattered anymore. Her world had shattered. The truth of it dragged at her bones. Her breath stuck in her throat, begging her not to say the words, but not saying them didn’t make them any less true.

“Tavrin is dead.” The words fell like blades between them.

Orzen stared, stricken silent. “But he was—”

She folded in on herself, forehead against her knees—the fur rough with dirt and leaves.

Orzen’s voice splintered. “Wren…I’m sorry,” he said, urgent now. “I’m so sorry.” He meant it. She could hear it in his voice.

But sorry didn’t matter. It wouldn’t change anything. He reached for her, but she flinched away, shaking her head.

“You promised you’d find me.” Her eyes filled with tears again. She wiped them away, furious at herself.

“And I failed.” He pushed himself upright, bracing on the tree, swaying. “But I also promised I wouldn’t lie to you again.”