Coby helps me to my feet, holds me close as he leads me through the bodies back to the kitchen. Now the men are beginning to stir. They aren’t all dead, just wounded and torn up and hurt.
“Your sister’s good with a needle, isn’t she?” Coby asks.
Tarn still sits like a small boulder in the booth by the counter, his face bleeding through his hands, and he looks up as we pass. Coby frowns at him, looks around and frowns at all of them.
“We need her down here.” Coby holds the swinging door open as I step into the kitchen. “She needs to patch up my men.”
“I don’t want her seeing this.” I glance around at the blood that splatters the cabinets and paints the floor.
Coby’s hands tighten on my waist. “She’s seen your wounds, hasn’t she? This isn’t much worse.”
His words cut deeper than I’d l
