Reclaiming My Broken Luna (Astrid and Killian) novel Chapter 430

Astrid’s POV

The corridors leading to the infirmary felt impossibly long, the walls closing in on me with every step.

My heart pounded, a relentless drumbeat of panic and guilt, louder than my own breath, louder than the torches flickering along the stone walls.

Ryker.

My son.

The thought of him lying there, unconscious and injured, made my stomach twist violently. I should have been there. I should have protected them both.

Killian’s hand was firm on the small of my back, steadying me, grounding me, but I barely felt it.

The only thing I could focus on was the door ahead, slightly ajar, spilling faint light into the dim hallway.

I hesitated for only a second before pushing it open.

The moment I saw him, my legs nearly gave out beneath me.

Ryker lay on the bed, his small body dwarfed by the sheets tucked around him.

His face was too pale, his lashes dark against his cheeks, his breathing slow and shallow.

A thick bandage was wrapped around his head, stark against his golden hair.

My vision blurred as I rushed to his side, my hands trembling as they hovered over him before finally, gently, gripping his hand.

His fingers were warm but limp in mine.

Tears burned my eyes, hot and unrelenting.

“Ryker,” I whispered, my voice breaking.

He didn’t stir.

I tightened my grip on his small hand, my thumb brushing over his knuckles, as if I could will him to wake up, to open those sharp, intelligent eyes and tell me he was okay.

But he didn’t move.

A broken sound escaped my throat, and my shoulders shook.

“I wasn’t there,” I whispered hoarsely, to no one in particular. “I should have been there. I should have—”

“Astrid.”

Killian’s arms wrapped around me from behind, pulling me against his chest.

His warmth should have been comforting, but nothing could ease the weight crushing my heart.

His chin pressed against the top of my head, his hold firm but not constricting.

“You have to take care of yourself too,” he murmured. “Too much stress, too much grief—it won’t help him. It won’t help Elara.”

At the mention of her name, a fresh wave of pain surged through me, cutting deep, slicing through my ribs, my lungs, my heart.

I squeezed my eyes shut. “They took her, Killian. And now he’s—” I sucked in a sharp breath, unable to say it out loud.

“I know.” His grip tightened. “But Ryker is still here. And he needs his mother strong. You can’t break now.”

I wanted to scream that I was already breaking. That I had shattered the moment Elara’s screams had echoed in my ears, the moment I had hit the ground, helpless.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I swallowed the lump in my throat and turned to the doctor standing at the foot of Ryker’s cot, waiting patiently for me to be ready.

I wasn’t.

But I forced myself to ask anyway. “What happened?”

The doctor—a graying man with steady eyes and a calm presence—exhaled softly before speaking. “Ryker was thrown against the wall during the attack. He hit his head hard enough to lose consciousness.”