"Caelen!" Eli's voice tore through the choking dust, raw, desperate, sharper than the ringing that still screamed in his ears.
No answer.
'Shit. Fuck—fuck! Shit!'
"Caelen?! Are you—are you okay?!"
The silence pressed in, thicker than the priest's looming shadow. His Danger Detection wasn't shrieking anymore—but that was worse.
'He should've tanked that. He always tanks it… he's fine. He's—he has to be fine… right? …but that hit—'
Eli's chest heaved, pulse hammering against his ribs like it wanted out. If Caelen wasn't answering, there was only one explanation.
He was hurt. Badly.
Eli's throat burned with the urge to look, but he couldn't. He couldn't. The gargoyles were still in front of him—stone claws frozen mid-strike, wings stretched wide, jaws agape. Inches away.
His instincts screamed that the moment his eyes slipped off them, they'd shred him alive.
Grinding his teeth, Eli shifted just enough to catch the edge of the crater in his peripheral.
