Kaela could still taste smoke in the back of her throat.Not the good kind, like from a warm campfire or roasted meat. No, this was blood-smoke. Metal and ash and something mean. It stuck to her skin, even after she'd wiped her hands on the grass more times than she could count.She crouched near the river’s edge, splashing cold water on her face, trying not to look at the streaks of red clouding downstream. The last rogue’s body had been dragged away, but the memory of the fight clung to her like second skin.Ronan stood a few feet back, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight it might snap. He hadn’t said a word since they’d returned from the ridge. Not even when she got clipped — a clean slice across the ribs that had bled more than it should’ve.He was too quiet. That kind of quiet that crackled.“I’m fine,” she muttered, not looking at him.“You’re bleeding,” he said flatly.She straightened up too fast, winced, then scowled at herself for it. “I said I’m fine.”“You always say that.
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