Todos os capítulos de MEND ME IF YOU CAN.: Capítulo 81 - Capítulo 90

The boy led them out into the bruised dawn, where the storm’s rage still lingered in every corner of the world. The air was sharp and cold, tasting of rain-soaked earth and resinous pine. Mud clung stubbornly to their boots, sucking at their steps with each pace along the narrow trail. Water dripped from branches, sliding in silver threads down dark bark, and small rivulets streamed along the slope, catching the dim light of the rising sun. The night’s violence had left the land cleansed, yet scarred—broken twigs scattered the ground, leaves pressed flat and slick as if the forest itself had bowed under the storm’s weight.The path wound upward, cutting through patches of mist that curled low to the ground, ghostly and pale. Ahead, the ridges stood jagged against the horizon, their outlines softened by the lingering veil of dawn. From beyond them, smoke rose in faint, curling trails, carried by the shifting wind. It was the kind of smoke that didn’t belong to morning hearths—it was da

The pounding at the door didn’t stop. Each strike shook the frail walls of the healer’s chamber, rattling shelves, making the lantern flame quiver as if it feared the storm outside and the storm at the door alike. The sound was relentless, heavy as a war drum, echoing through Soren’s chest until his heart answered in thunderous beats of its own.He stood rooted to the floor, every muscle tight as a drawn bow. His breath came shallow, but his eyes never strayed from the door. Each slam carried with it the promise of splintered wood, of steel and blood flooding the small sanctuary they had carved for themselves.And yet—he didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not while Travian sat behind him, pale but burning, his presence both an anchor and a chain on Soren’s fraying instincts. He was torn in half: the wolf in him howling to throw the door open and tear apart whoever dared to come for them, and the man in him desperate to keep Travian hidden, shielded from the violence pressing in from all sides.“O

The night had deepened, swallowing the clinic whole in a silence that felt almost sacred. Shadows stretched long across the cracked floorboards, curling into the corners like dark hands afraid of the light. Only the faint glow of the dying lantern lingered—a pale, trembling thing that refused to die. Its flame flickered over the bed where Soren and Travian lay, their bodies entangled in the gentle chaos of exhaustion, confession, and the quiet ache of everything they’d endured.The air was still, heavy with the scent of rain and candle soot. Outside, the storm had finally passed, leaving behind a hush so fragile it could’ve shattered under a single breath. For one small, stolen moment, it felt as though the world had stopped—like the storm had stripped away all the noise and cruelty, and left only this: two souls clinging to each other in the dim light.Soren’s head rested against Travian’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling it slow into something almost p

The storm hadn’t ended—it had only grown quieter, as though the heavens themselves were holding their breath. The silence that followed wasn’t peace; it was the kind of stillness that warned of something vast waiting beneath the surface, coiling and ready to awaken.The valley no longer looked the same. The mist had thickened into veils of silver and gray, moving with a will of its own, twisting through the blackened trees. The air shimmered faintly, pulsing with an unholy luminescence that seemed to breathe in time with the trembling earth. Every flicker of light revealed something new—shadows shaped like hands stretching from the fog, ancient symbols burned faintly into the rocks, the remnants of the seal that had once imprisoned what slept beneath them.Soren stood on the cliff’s edge beside Travian, the world below them glowing faintly, like a buried heartbeat trapped within the mountain. The sound was soft but insistent—thump, thump—resonating through their bones. The valley itse

The valley had become quiet again, but it was the kind of quiet that follows a scream—raw, trembling, and alive with the ghost of sound. The stillness stretched across the charred horizon, thick and suffocating, as if the world itself was holding its breath.Ash drifted from the heavens like weary snow, blanketing the scorched earth in shades of grey. The once-vibrant meadows of Valenor lay ruined, their rivers reduced to sluggish streams of blackened water that steamed in the chill air. Nothing stirred. No birds, no insects—only the faint crackle of dying embers and the rhythmic beat of Soren’s pulse in his ears.The rift was gone.Sealed at last.But the cost of its closing lingered in every breath Soren took.He could feel it—the wound it left behind, not just in the world but in him. The very air tasted wrong, thin and cold, as if time itself had been cut open and stitched together again by trembling, unsteady hands.He rose slowly, the movement agonizing. Every muscle screamed. H