The Wisteria Accond

Chapter Nine

I wake to the sharp, familiar scent of antiseptic and the dull throb of pain radiating through my entire body. The world is a blur of rough-hewn wood beams and shadows, and it takes a moment for me to remember where I am, what happened. The battle, the Nightborne, the chaos. Soren dragging me back to the outpost.

I'm alive. Barely.

I try to sit up, but a lance of pain shoots through my chest, and I bite back a cry. Damn it. I press a hand to the bandages wrapped around my ribs, feeling the sticky warmth of fresh blood seeping through. The wound isn't deep—thank the gods for that—but it's nasty enough to keep me laid up for a while. And I hate being laid up.

"Easy there, hero," Clara's voice comes from across the small room, tired but wry. She's propped up on a cot, her face bruised and battered but otherwise intact. Her eyes meet mine, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You're not supposed to be moving around. Doc says you've got at least a week of bed rest ahead of you."

"A week?" I groan, falling back against the thin pillow. "I don't have time for a week. There's too much going on. We need to—"

"We need to rest," she interrupts, her voice firmer now. "You almost got yourself killed out there, Kiera. We all did. Don't think for a second that I'm letting you get up and play hero again until you're fully healed."

I sigh, knowing she's right but still hating every second of it. The outpost's small infirmary is cramped and stifling, with only a few beds crammed into the narrow space. The air smells like blood and herbs, mingling with the coppery tang of fear that seems to cling to the walls. We're not equipped for this. We never are.

Gav sits on a stool by the window, his arm in a sling, his face drawn and pale. He looks over at me, his expression somewhere between exasperation and relief. "She's right, you know. You were reckless out there."

"I was trying to keep you both alive," I counter, though my voice lacks its usual bite. I'm too tired, too raw. "If I hadn't—"

"If you hadn't, we'd all be dead," he says, his tone surprisingly gentle. "But we can't afford to lose you, Kiera. Not like that."

A heavy silence settles over the room, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the outpost waking up—footsteps on gravel, the low murmur of voices. I close my eyes, letting the sounds wash over me, trying to ground myself in the here and now.

We survived. But that doesn't mean we're safe.

"Did you see them?" Clara asks quietly, breaking the silence. "Their eyes?"

My heart skips a beat, a cold chill running down my spine. Of course she noticed. We all did. The Nightborne's eyes—always a stormy mix of gray and blue, swirling like a tempest—had been different. Wrong. And there was no mistaking it.

"They weren't like before," Gav says, his brows knitting together in a frown. "They were... brighter. More intense. Almost like they were burning with something."

I swallow hard, my mind flickering back to the fight. The way those eyes had seemed to flare with each snarl, each lunge. The way they'd looked at me with something I couldn't quite place—something beyond the hunger and fury we were used to.

"They were all different," Clara murmurs, her voice low, thoughtful. "Not just one color, but... several. And they kept changing."

"Yeah," Gav agrees, his expression darkening. "Like they were feeling something. Fear, maybe? Or... something else."

I keep my mouth shut, pressing my lips together to stop myself from speaking. I know exactly what it is. The Nightborne's eyes reflect their emotions—at least, that's what Ashen said. But which emotions? Fear? Anger? Something else entirely? I don't know, and I can't let them see how much this bothers me. Not yet.