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He hadn’t seen them yet, which was unlike him. His head was tilted slightly downward, eyes half-lidded as though focused on something far beyond the room. Either listening or enduring, she couldn’t work out which.

Maia stepped forward. The sound of her movement, as soft as it was, cut loudly through the chamber. She stopped. She hadn’t meant to startle him. He had noticed, but remained still.

When he lifted his head, the humming in her skull didn’t stop. It changed. The pressure in the chamber eased. She had spent days not knowing whether he was dead, but her body understood before she did.

“Maia?”

She swallowed. Her name on his lips was something she thought she might never hear again. Before she realised she was moving, she was walking towards him.

“Caelith,” she whispered. “We’re here. I’m here.”

She stopped just short of him. It was close enough to see the dark hollows under his silver eyes. Close enough to see the strain in the way he held himself. Close enough to see that he had been damaged by whatever this room was.

He looked at her, either assessing the damage or checking that she was real. His gaze stopped at her hands. The bandages were still there, thin linen wrapped around the cuts she’d received from the glass reaper. They were half-healed, but visible where her sleeve had ridden up. His jaw went tight.

“What did they do to you?” His voice had dropped to a dangerous note.

“I’m all right, Caelith. It’s not—”

“Maia.”

“Look, it was only that they wanted to know if the shards would answer for me without you there. But it’s fine. I’m fine.”

She watched something move behind his eyes. Confirmation, maybe. She imagined he’d already suspected.

His hand came up, not quite touching her wrist. His other fist clenched tightly.

“I’m okay now, don’t worry,” she said quickly, sensing his panic. “Honestly, I’m better. I’m fine.”

She had meant to say something sensible, but instead she went to him and put both hands flat against his chest. Because she had spent so long not knowing for certain if he was alive, and she needed to feel that he was.

He went completely still under her palms.

“Maia.”

“Please. I… just need to feel you. If that’s all right with you. Just for a second.”

So he let her. She felt his breathing change under her hands, as if he was making himself do it to reassure her. Then his own hand came up and covered one of hers, holding it there as if he were the one who needed proof.

It was only then that she felt it. His hand over hers was not right. There was something more than the silver scars that were usually there. Now there were fine fractures running beneath the surface, like glass under too much pressure. The room had been working on him slowly.

“What are you doing here, Maia?” he managed, finally. “You—” He looked at her, then at Julen. “You shouldn’t have come.”

He wasn’t angry; there was something more than that in his words. He was scared.

Maia shook her head, breath unsteady now. “We didn’t have a choice.”

“You did,” he said, more firmly. “You always do. And this was the wrong one. One that will get you killed.”

Julen stepped forward behind her. “Good to know you’re still yourself.”

Caelith’s gaze flicked again to him. “You managed to somehow survive once more,” he said.

Julen let out a short breath. “Barely. Your people have been busy.”

Something in Caelith’s expression tightened. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I know.”

Maia stepped closer. “Caelith, listen to me. We don’t have time…”