Her fingers curl weakly into the sand.
The pull in her chest loosens.
Just slightly.
And a sound breaks through the haze.
Soft.
Low.
Tentative.
Elyssara blinks slowly.
Shapes shift in the darkness beyond her blurred vision.
A shadow steps forward from the dunes.
Tall.
Graceful.
Moonlight spills across skin.
A woman.
The realization hits her in a quiet, breathless wave.
The pull in her chest.
The thread that dragged her forward.
It was instinct.
Fate.
The Stars themselves.
Perhaps she is never beyond the reach of fate. Perhaps everything she does is simply a new thread in the same tapestry.
She pushes herself up. Or, attempts to.
The movement sends a flare of pain through Elyssara’s ribs, and a groan spills from her throat.
Her body gives up the fight. Darkness edges closer. But another set of boot steps approach, the sound of compressed sand squeaking under foot.
A figure kneels beside her, hooded cloak in place. Hands—steady, careful—slide beneath her shoulders.
She tries to lift her head. Tries to see. But the world refuses to focus.
The person lifts her with surprising strength, settling her across their arms.
She wants to fight, but instead, she allows herself to sink into the body that holds her. Warm skin beneath her chest. A steady heartbeat pulsing in her ears.
“Kael…” she murmurs. As if his name is enough to call him home.
The person shifts beneath her, honed muscles coiling.
