"You..." A wolf-clan elder with bandaged ribs lurched forward, fury flaring in his yellow eyes.
Paxton seized the elder's arm, dragging him back before defiance became death.
Clara's heart twisted. Shame scorched hotter than her wounds, as if her master's flames had leapt inside her chest and left nothing but ash.
She turned. The Myriad Beast Sect survivors huddled behind her, and the new despair in their eyes felt heavier than chains. She swung her gaze to Paxton, who still knelt with half-healed wounds. His skin had gone a deathly shade of white.
A single breath of resolve, then she dropped to her knees and slammed her head against the stone, once, twice, a third time, each crack echoing across the gorge. Red welts ballooned across her brow before she even lifted her face.
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