Thessia dropped to her knees beside the tub, sleeves pushed up, rubbing Auryn’s hands between hers. Her breath fogged the air. “She’s like ice,” she hissed. “Gods, her fingers—Resh, she’sfreezing.”
“I know.” His voice cracked.
“She’ll warm up fine,” Zarrek said, “as long as her heart doesn’t stop first.”
Thessia gave him a warning look. “I’ll get blankets. More dry towels,” she said, rising.
“Not yet," Resh said. "Let her body adjust.”
Zarrek didn’t move. He stood just beyond the tub’s edge, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Auryn. His face—usually unreadable—was drawn, pale. “We all missed it.”
Neither Thessia nor Resh answered.
“How did we all miss it?” Zarrek said again. “She was right in front of us. Talking. Breathing. Smiling. And now…”
Resh glanced up at him. It wasn’t the words that struck him—it was the tone. He’d heard that tone before. A dozen times. A hundred. It was the voice Zarrek used when looking down at a soldier with too many wounds. When the healers had done all they could, and nothing more could be pulled from the thread of a fading life.
Resh rested his hand above her heart.
Still there.
Still beating.
But faint. Andwrong.
Then—movement. Not hers. A flicker. A shadow beneath her skin. He shifted her in his arms, thumb tilting her chin higher—and saw it. Darkness pooling along her jaw, crawling up from her collarbone like arising tide. He tugged at her nightshift with trembling hands, baring her left shoulder and chest.
Veins—black, thick, branching like cracks in obsidian—webbed out from her heart, crawling beneath her skin like ink spilled under glass. The lines pulsed. Throbbed.Fed.
Thessia stilled. “Whatis that?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Resh said, hoarse. “It’s in her. Whatever this is—it’s inside her.”
Zarrek’s eyes narrowed. “How long?”
“I don’t know.” He looked back at her face. No sign of waking. No sign of anything. “I didn’t see it. I—” His voice broke. “I didn’t look.”
He bowed his head and pressed his lips to her temple.
“I’m here,” he whispered. “You hear me? I’m here. You just…stay. Stay with me.”
Resh adjusted Auryn in his lap, anchoring her weight with his entire body. Hoping he could anchor her heart. Her soul. He stayed with her in the water, stroking her hair, listening to her breathing.
An hour passed.
He reheated the water once. Then twice. Then again as her breathing evened out and her pallor faded. Time transformed into an oppressive fog—its volume measured only by her breaths.
Shallow at first. Barely there.
Then stronger.
And then again.
“Come on, Auryn,” he murmured. “Come back to me.”
Her limbs lay across him like they belonged there—fragile, boneless things that once held stars in their weave. He cradled her close, careful not to jostle her too much, his lips brushing her temple between each whispered plea.
Her skin had started to shift—not warm, not yet, but no longer ice.
