“Let’s get a better look.” Drevan motioned toward the thick underbrush. Despite the heaviness in his eyes, he moved like a predator, careful not to snap a twig. Calen crept alongside him, wishing his heartbeat wasn’t so thunderous in his ears.

They circled around the ruin to a broken wall near the back, peering inside. It was an enclosed courtyard, half-collapsed, the floor strewn with rubble. Torches guttered in wall sconces. Several bandits lounged around a makeshift camp. And near the center, chained to a stone pillar, was Amara.

Calen’s breath caught. Even from this distance, he could see fresh bruises on her arms and a swelling around her temple. She was conscious but looked disoriented. Two bandits stood guard, while others chattered or rummaged through sacks of loot.

“We have to hurry,” Calen whispered urgently. “She looks like she’s barely awake.”

Drevan nodded, but his jaw clenched with uncertainty. “We can’t storm in blindly. There are too many. We might risk more harm to her.”

Calen racked his brain. Every nerve in his body screamed to rush in, but Drevan was right. They’d endanger Amara if they just charged. “Let’s… let’s do this carefully,” he murmured. “I—I have an idea.”

Drevan turned to him. “Go on.”

Sucking in a shaky breath, Calen lifted his staff. “My healing magic… it’s not only good for curing injuries. It can calm, weaken, or put enemies to sleep if I adjust the spells properly. I’ve never done it on multiple targets at once, but…”

A faint flicker of surprise crossed Drevan’s features. “You think you can pacify them?”

“Yes,” Calen said firmly, though his heart thumped. “But I’ll need you to distract them—keep them from focusing on me while I cast. Once some are dazed or unconscious, you can move in.”

Drevan hesitated only for a beat before nodding. “All right. Let’s go.”

They slunk back around to the ruined gateway, where the bandits seemed to have set up a rudimentary barricade of broken wood. Drevan inhaled, centering himself. Calen stepped behind him, staff gripped tight, whispering the invocation under his breath. A soft, golden glow gathered at the tip of the staff.

“One… two…” Drevan quietly counted, tensing for action. “Now.”

He lunged forward, slamming a boot into the barricade, splintering it. The nearest bandit scrambled upright, shouting an alarm. Drevan’s sword flashed, striking at the man’s blade with sparks of metal. Calen, half-concealed by the darkness, channeled his healing-laced aura outward.

A wave of shimmering, pale light swept through the courtyard. Several bandits stumbled, momentarily unsure of their footing. One stared at his own hands in confusion, as though too lethargic to raise his weapon. Another slumped against a broken column, eyelids drooping.

Shouts rang out, and a few of the more alert bandits rallied, converging on Drevan. He parried skillfully, using his shield to knock aside axes and swords. Each time his blade connected, he forced another enemy to retreat or crumple. Still, they pressed in. Calen’s aura had weakened many, but not all.

Amara blinked blearily from across the courtyard, stirring at the noise. She recognized Drevan’s horned silhouette in the torchlight, and her heart wrenched. They’ve come for me…

But with her hands bound behind the pillar, exhausted and in pain, she could only watch the chaotic battle unfold. One of the bandits noticed she was awake and moved closer, a knife in hand, as if to use her as leverage. But then a swirl of golden light flared from Calen’s staff, forming a barrier around Amara that repelled the attacker. The man stumbled back, dazed, before Drevan struck him across the head with the hilt of his sword.

“Calen, keep it up!” Drevan called, voice echoing in the stone courtyard. Two more bandits lunged at him in unison. He dove to the side, rolling across debris. The big man with the cudgel—probably the same one who’d knocked Amara out—swung a savage blow at Drevan’s back.

Clang! The tiefling winced as the force rattled his shield arm. He countered with a precise slash to the bandit’s thigh, and the man went down with a howl.

Meanwhile, Calen kept weaving spells of sedation, forging them from the same gentle magic he normally used to mend wounds. A turquoise shimmer rolled outward, enveloping a cluster of bandits who’d been charging up the courtyard steps. Their knees buckled as if the strength had been drained from their limbs. One by one, they collapsed in a groggy stupor.

With the bandits mostly disabled, Drevan raced toward the pillar where Amara was tied. She looked up at him, a mixture of relief and shame clouding her eyes. Blood streaked her temple where the bandits had struck her, and her breathing was ragged.

“Drevan,” she croaked, barely finding her voice.

He knelt, hacking at the chains with his sword until they snapped. Amara’s arms fell forward, and she slumped against him, too weak to stand. “Come on,” he muttered gently, positioning her so she could lean on his shoulder. “You’re safe now.”

Calen joined them, breathing hard. The courtyard was littered with unconscious or groaning bandits, some pinned by rubble, others simply unable to stand. A few had fled, but no one remained to threaten them. “Amara…” he said, kneeling beside her. “You’re hurt. I—I can heal that, give me—”

He pressed glowing hands to her bruised temple, and a warmth flooded through her, washing away the worst of the pain. She choked back a sob, tears already threatening. “I— I’m so sorry. I just… froze…”

“You’re okay,” Calen insisted, voice cracking with relief. “That’s all that matters right now.”

But she couldn’t meet his gaze. The memory of her last fight, that lethal explosion, still haunted her. She had welcomed being taken instead of risking a repeat of that horror. And I nearly died for it…