By the time they staggered into Anjer, the day had turned to night. The volcano continued to rage unseen across the sea.
Eduard pressed his wrist to his face, a desperate attempt to keep from inhaling the soot and ash. His throat was raw, his mouth parched, his nostrils seared. Each breath drew painfully from him, and more than once he buried his face against Reza’s hot shoulder as dry coughs racked his lungs. He felt soiled and flushed, covered in falling dust that felt as if it would burst into flames at any moment and set him afire. The debris blinded him, and he had lost all sense of direction as he followed after Reza. Now his feet shuffled forward out of habit. His weary limbs wanted nothing more than to drop to the ground and let the ash bury him where he fell.
“Reza,” he gasped
