Michael was careful to keep his stride measured and silent.
Even with the spell broken, he couldn't quite convince himself he was safe.
The two women he carried were dead weight against his shoulders, their shallow breathing the only sign they still clung to life.
Soon he stepped into the parking lot, but the sight he was met with made him pause.
Michael brows drew together.
He'd expected to see people regaining their consciousness but this wasn't it.
Instead—
What Michael was met with was bodies.
Dozens of them.
All lying motionless where they had stood.
Michael's lips compressed to a thin line.
He shifted the dark elf slightly over his shoulder and walked forward with deliberate caution, his boots whispering over the cobbles.
Here and there, a low groan told him some still lived—trapped in the fog between sleep and waking.
But not all.
He stopped by a man in a fine green robe whose cheek was pressed flat to the ground. There was no blood. No visible open wound.
