"Trust me," Mikhailis chuckled softly, leaping effortlessly over a pile of splintered wooden beams that blocked their path. He landed lightly, feet barely stirring the dust beneath him. "I'll remind you later, when you've got your strength back."
"Oh, joy," she whispered dryly, though the slight curve of her lips betrayed the fact that she didn't entirely hate the idea.
Beside her, Cerys remained silent, her usual stoicism firmly in place. Yet, despite her efforts to maintain composure, he felt her grip on his shoulder tighten slightly with each swift movement he made. Her breath came in measured, controlled bursts—carefully hiding any indication of pain—but Mikhailis was no fool. He could sense the tension in her muscles, feel the tremors that occasionally coursed through her when they navigated rough terrain.
