Una let out a strained sigh. “Your compassion is sorely misplaced. It’s going to get you killed one day.”

“Maybe it will!” she snapped. “But I’m a healer. I don’t want to play Goddess and decide who lives and who dies.”

“It’s too late for that. If anyone else goes missing—”

“I know.” Wren couldn’t keep the quaver out of her voice. Thanks to her misguided compassion, their only lead had escaped. They were no closer to finding Byers, and if anyone else went missing—if Una went missing—that would be on her head, too. Softer now, she said, “I know. I’m sorry.”

Fighting with Una always hurt. After so many years, they were too familiar with each other’s wounds: how to reopen them, where to rub in salt, how to stitch them up again. Even still, Wren loved her. It was hard not to, with the starlight tangled in her black hair and the weight of an entire nation on her broad, unbent shoulders. Especially when she looked at her like this, fury and exhaustion and relief crystallized in the amber of her eyes. Una’s grip on her wrist slackened until Wren could almost mistake it for a comforting touch.

“How did he get away?” Wren dared to ask.

Whatever tenderness Una had shown was abruptly hidden behind her scowl. “He got a head start.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I saw him running, I didn’t hesitate. I came back here first.”

It was so unlike Una, she was convinced she’d misheard. “Why?”

“Because.” It was frustration distilled into two syllables. “I thought something happened to you.”

“Are you saying you were worried about me?”

Una grimaced. “Don’t push your luck.”

Wren longed to hear her admit it, but Una would never be so plain, so vulnerable. She hadn’t always been so hard, but war taught her never to bare her throat. Choosing Wren over their mission’s success, however, came dangerously close to it. As much as she’d protest, not even Una was immune to fear. After Byers had vanished, Wren had watched a storm gather behind Una’s eyes, dark and melancholy. It hadn’t cleared since. Wren had known his disappearance wounded her, but now she knew it made Una softer than she could afford to be.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” Wren said softly.

“I was his commanding officer.” Una offered her a thin, empty smile. “Of course it was my fault.”

“Please don’t say things like that.”

“It’s only the truth. His life—all of your lives—were entrusted to me. I ask you all to risk your lives for me every time we leave the city. What kind of leader would I be if I didn’t owe you the same?”

“You don’t have to ask. I would do it anyway.”