Page 152 of The Last Remaining Light

“Twenty-six. Thirty before the last tremor.”

Lora made a small, choked sound behind Elowynn.

Korvel’s jaw tensed, but his expression didn't change. “How long have you been inside?”

“Less than two bells,” the man said. “We came through the lower transit access after the east bridge fell. The main shelters were sealed or full by then.” His eyes moved toward the door behind them. “Are the passages clear?”

No one answered quickly enough and the man’s face went gray with disappointment and fear.

Alyra lowered her blade, though not enough for Elowynn to believe she’d fully relaxed.

“The route behind us is compromised. There are Starless in the old gallery,” said Alyra.

The words brought forth uneasy whispers. A woman began to cry while someone else spoke a quiet prayer to the stars. One of the older children hid his bruised and dirtied face in the torn coat of the person nearest him.

The engineer looked toward the door again. “Did they follow you?”

“No, they did not,” Elowynn said.

Her own voice startled her. It sounded steady, almost calm, though she felt nothing of the sort.

The Starless had not followed because they had stepped aside. Because they had watched Caelyn as though he were something known to them. Because a child with clouded eyes had placed a ruined doll in his hand and then vanished back into the dark.

Caelyn’s fingers held tight to that doll now.

Elowynn saw the motion from the corner of her eye and wanted, with sudden violence, to take the thing from him. He held it as though it weighed more than his own injured body. The toy was small and filthy, its cloth face stained with ash and old blood, one button eye missing. In his hand, it looked unbearably fragile.

The engineer saw it, too, along with the others. Elowynn watched as their fear changed shape. She wanted to be angry with them. To loathe them with every part of her being.

A feeling of self-hatred washed over her. Because she understood.

Caelyn stood before them, shirtless beneath torn bandages and blood, black veins faint beneath his skin. Eyes of black stared through the dim light, and he was holding a child’s ruined and bloodied doll like an offering.

If she hadn’t known him, if she hadn’t known the boy who had brought her lemon tea and argued over resonance charts. Who loved her across half a continent and over half her life in suffering silence, perhaps she would have been afraid too.

Korvel seemed to sense the shelter’s attention turning dangerous.

“He’s injured,” he said, the words clipped. “Not contagious. Not Starless. Not your concern.”

Caelyn’s head turned slightly toward him. So did Elowynn’s.

Korvel didn't meet either of their gazes, his attention remaining on the engineer, but there was something tense in his shoulders that hadn’t been there earlier. He had defended Caelyn. Reluctantly, perhaps. Pragmatically, certainly.

Nonetheless, he had defended him.

Elowynn didn't know what to do with that. She couldn't deny how grateful it made her feel.

The engineer swallowed, his throat bobbing. “Of course.” He didn't sound at all convinced.

Lora stepped closer to Elowynn, her robe heavy and clinking with the crystals stuffed in her pockets. She looked around the shelter with wide eyes. Her usual brightness had not vanished completely, but it had folded inward. It was still there, trying to keep itself alive in a place that had little room for humor.

“Are there healers?” Lora asked quietly.

A woman near the far wall lifted a trembling hand. “I trained in surgical support for the lower observatory clinics. I am not a healer, but I know enough to stop bleeding.”

Alyra looked at Caelyn. “Good. Then she can look at him.”

Caelyn frowned, shaking his head once. “No,” he said firmly.