The dimly lit room was thick with the smell of Robert's blood and the lingering scent of ozone. Hannah moved with a newfound, unsettling grace, her fingers steady as she snapped open the latches of the small, battered first aid kit they had managed to smuggle in under the guise of "cleaning supplies."
Robert sat on the floor, leaning heavily against the stone bed frame. He was a ruin of a man—his tunic shredded, his skin a map of jagged lacerations and deep, blossoming purple hematomas from the Clemadead's fury. Despite his own agony, his eyes remained fixed on the third occupant of the room. The mermaid, now fully transitioned into her human form, lay deathly still. Her gills had smoothed over into pale, flawless skin, and her tattered fins had retracted into human limbs, but she remained unresponsive, a marble statue of a woman.
