He leaned forward on his knees.
“Auryn,” he said.
No answer. He moved closer.
“Auryn,” he repeated, louder now. He touched her shoulder, shook her lightly.
Still nothing.
Cold spread—not just from her skin, but through his entire body.
He pressed his hand to her cheek. Her lips.
Too cold.
His other hand hovered just above her heart. Still beating. Still breathing. But faint.
His pulse thundered. He cupped her jaw. Tapped her cheek. Shook her again.
He moved, sitting on the edge of the cot, one arm bracing behind her as the other reached to cradle her jaw. Her breath still came, light and shallow, her chest rising just barely beneath the folds of the blanket.
He leaned closer, brushing the backs of his knuckles across her cheek. “Auryn,” he murmured. “I let you sleep in, didn’t I? A whole day. That’s indulgent, even for you.”
Still nothing.
No mumble. Not even the tiny scowl she made when woken too early.
Nothing.
“Starlight, it’s me.” He whispered it now, as if the wind might carry it deeper into whatever place she’d gone.
Resh stared at her for a long moment.
He rolled her toward him, cradling her upper body to his chest, one hand cupping the back of her head.
And then he saw it—
A wide, shimmering stain beneath her. Silver blood, half-dried, soaked into the linen. The specter that had hovered over him all day, waiting to be noticed.
He reached for her without thinking, without grace—with fear.He pulled her into his lap, too fast, too roughly, but she didn’t react. Didn’t resist.
“Auryn, wake up.” His voice cracked. “Please. Wake up.”
He shook her, gently at first. Then harder. Nothing. Still nothing. He cradled the back of her neck with trembling fingers, as if trying to press her soul back into her body.
“Don’t do this.” His voice rasped, throat tight. “Don’t do this to me.”
He pressed his face into her hair, desperate for her scent—lavender and old pages, that soft, strange sweetness that washers—but it was fainter now. As if fading.
His hand brushed her cheek.
Soft and icy—like the first frost on glass.
Shock rooted him in place. His mind emptied of thought. He stared, unable to process what his senses already knew.
She was dying. Or had already died. He didn’t know.
He just—didn’t know.
