KAIA

An hour into our trek through the increasingly remote forest roads, my arms are screaming from supporting Vincent's weight. He's doing better than he was in the cave—the fever has broken, leaving him pale but more lucid, but he's still weak, still healing from the silver poisoning that spider-webbed through his system.

"We can rest," I say for the third time, glancing at his face. Sweat beads along his hairline despite the cool mountain air.

"I'm fine," he says, and I bite back the urge ...