A jerk of movement pulls her into consciousness. She’s no longer on the ground; she’s in someone’s arms, Inej realizes with a start. Her fingers twitch, seeking out one of her knives, but so much pain is radiating from her arm that she can’t move.
Whoever is carrying her isn’t doing so gently. With each staggering step, Inej is wrenched against the person’s chest.
“Inej? Are you awake?” says a rasping voice.
Kaz. Kaz is carrying her.
“Kaz?” Inej says. Her voice is hoarse from the vomiting and the drinking.
“Yes. It’s me. We’re almost there.”
https://archiveofourown.org/works/56463739/chapters/163618366