Flames climbed up his arms but he was shivering. With a jolt, he woke in a fit of fever, drowning in sweat and pain. He forced his eyes open but the light wouldn’t come. He saw only shadows, slithering and hissing in the darkness. “Rogan!” He heard the voice, soft and liquid. “He’s awake.” Leave me. Let me burn and let the ashes blow away. “Rog,” he felt his shoulder shaking. “Rog, can you hear me?” Slowly the shadows faded into the light and shapes took their place. He blinked a few times and could finally make out familiar faces. “What the hell happened?” He groaned, his side screaming as he tried to sit up. “That prick Demos paid you a visit,” Ben said. “Don’t move,” Iris said. “You’ve got a couple of busted ribs. And one nasty bash to the head. And you’ve got a fever.” Rogan reached back and fingered the head wound.
