Amidst the chaos unraveling inside the tent, Adam stumbled backward, his mind racing faster than his body could keep up. His heel caught against something uneven, and before he could steady himself, his palm slammed down onto a jagged piece of wood he had unknowingly dragged in.
The splinter drove deep into his tender flesh, causing a sharp hiss to escape him as pain flared through his hand, bright and immediate, but it barely registered. His focus was elsewhere, completely, desperately elsewhere.
He yanked the shard out without hesitation, blood welling instantly, dark and steady. Without so much as a glance, he tossed the wood aside, the injury dismissed as irrelevant.
Ella was not breathing, nothing else mattered.
Adam rushed out of the tent, his movements frantic now, uncoordinated in a way that did not suit a prince or a warrior. He scanned the camp with wild eyes, grabbing the nearest canteen he could find, nearly knocking over a set of utensils in the process.
