Aiden Crest waited outside the Healing Hall like a hero who had misplaced his moral script and hoped someone medical might have a spare copy.
Golden light spilled through the ward doors behind him. The corridor smelled of herbs, clean linen, and student panic. Somewhere inside, Sister Maelis was terrorizing junior healers into competence. Seraphina had dragged me there with the combined force of holy authority, team betrayal, and one look from Elara that made refusal feel like kicking a wounded animal.
I had surrendered strategically.
That was different from losing.
My left hand sat in a basin of cooled silverwater while a healing assistant stared at the blackened lines across my palm and pretended not to be fascinated. Burns from Null Touch did not behave like normal burns. The skin cracked in thin violet-black branches, as if lightning had decided to grow roots.
"Does it hurt?" the assistant asked.
"Yes."
Her shoulders relaxed.
