Stevie

The antiseptic smell of the infirmary burns my nose, sharp and clean in a way that makes me feel dirtier just sitting here. My arm throbs as the healer presses a damp cloth against the bite wound, and I grit my teeth.

“Hold still,” she says, voice soft but firm.

I do, even though every instinct in me screams to yank my arm back and snarl. I hate feeling weak. Hate needing someone to fix me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jace leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, frown carved deep into his face.

He’s been standing there like a damn statue since...