"Wait," she said, her voice hoarse.
But the soldiers didn't stop. Or maybe they just ignored her. They continued forward, their faces impassive, their boots crunching against the dirt.
Zara's heart pounded as she took another step forward, her hands curling into fists. No, no, it couldn't be Winter. He wasn't—he couldn't be—
She had just seen him. He had been alive.
Another step.
"Who is that?" she asked, louder this time, forcing steel into her voice.
The soldiers barely glanced at her as they carried the body past. Something cold coiled in her stomach. The lifeless arm hanging over the side of the stretcher, the slackness of the fingers—it sent ice straight through her chest.
One of the soldiers, a woman with sharp eyes and a bandaged arm, turned toward her. She gave Zara a tired look but didn't answer.
Zara clenched her jaw. "Please… Please let me… Has anyone—" Her voice faltered. Has anyone claimed the deceased? She couldn't bring herself to say it.
