The smell stopped them cold.

Teresa gagged and turned her face into Rune’s broad chest. Chico flew from her shoulder to swoop down the hall toward the front of the clinic, but Teresa hardly noticed. She was too busy trying to catch her breath. The stench clinging to the still air of the clinic was overpowering. Rune’s arms came around her and for one brief second she allowed herself to lean into him.

She was so accustomed to standing on her own that it went against her very nature to take comfort from someone else. To depend on someone else’s strength. But at the same time, being this close to Rune felt … familiar in a way that she’d never known before. His body was big, but it felt as though it had been made to fit against hers. And as he held her head to his chest, her own body stirred, despite the situation.

“What is that?” she asked finally, her voice muffled by his body.

He gave her a hard, brief squeeze, then set her back from him. His eyes were narrowed and swirling with energy and power until they looked like two pools of molten silver.

“I’ll find out. Stay here.” He set off down the hall toward the front of the clinic with long strides.

As if from a distance, she heard Chico’s piercing whistle followed by his screech of “Run for it!”

“Like hell,” she said, following right behind him. “You might as well know right now that I’m not the kind of girl to stay hidden, hoping a big, strong man will come along to save me.”

Her bootheels clicked on the linoleum floor, but the sound was almost lost under the clomp of Rune’s heavier steps.

“Teresa,” he said, half turning to glower at her, “you don’t want to go in there.”

From inside the room, Chico continued to squawk “Run for it!” over and over again until her head pounded in time with the bird’s voice.

Teresa pushed past Rune and saw—

“Oh, my God. Elena.”

She dropped to her knees beside the charred body of her friend. Anguish flooded her and tears spilled from her eyes, her grief shaking her to her soul. Instinctively, she reached out to take Elena’s hand in hers but stopped before touching her.

Elena.

A howl rose up inside her, but her throat wouldn’t let it escape. There was a huge knot of pain blocking its passage and Teresa knew that this pain would always be with her. She stared down at the body of her friend and wanted more than anything to scream a denial to the universe.

Elena’s left side was charred, the skin blackened and peeling. Her right hand was broken, covered in blood, and her arm bent at an impossible angle. But it was her eyes—open, glassy, frozen in pain and horror—that tore Teresa’s soul in two.

“Oh, my God. Elena.” This time she tenderly lifted her friend’s broken right hand and cupped it in both of hers. Elena’s skin was still warm. Hope leaped up inside Teresa. Blind, desperate hope. “She’s not dead. Not dead. Oh, God. God, she’s hurt bad.” Her words streamed from her in a never-ending flow of horror. Turning teary eyes frantically to her Eternal, Teresa begged, “Please. Help her. You can heal her. We can heal her.”