Araya shook her head, tears stinging her eyes as she stared down at Loren. “I’ve spoken to him, walked with him… He’s shown me things. Places that shouldn’t exist?—”
“Gods,” Serafina repeated, her voice weary. “Araya—have you told anyone else about this?”
“No—”
“Not Jaxon?” Serafina pressed. “His father? The baker?Anyone,Araya—have you toldanyonebut me about the dreams?”
“No,” Araya repeated, shaking her head quickly. “He—he told me not to tell anyone.”
Serafina exhaled, her shoulders relaxing ever so slightly, but her expression remained tense. “Good,” she said curtly, turning her attention back to Loren. “He was right. If they find out…”
Araya’s breath caught, her heart lurching. “Find out what?” she demanded. “Do you know why this is happening to me?”
Serafina didn’t respond immediately, her magic pulsing softly as it seeped into Loren’s torn skin. For a moment, she seemed entirely focused on her work, but then her eyes flicked to the door—the wavering silencing rune etched into the iron surface.
“We can’t talk about it here,” she said, her voice low. “Not right now. I swear, Araya, I’ll tell you what I know—but not here. Now—do you want to help him?”
“I do,” Araya said quickly. “Tell me what to do.”
“Then take his hand,” Serafina instructed, nodding toward Loren’s limp arm.
“What?” Araya blinked, her confusion deepening. “Why?”
“Just do it,” Serafina replied, her voice firm but not unkind. “Trust me, Araya. You both need this.”
Hesitant, Araya took Loren’s hand in hers. He was still so cold, so still—but something inside her quieted as they touched, soothed by their proximity. Araya wrapped her fingers around his, careful not to squeeze too hard.
“Good,” Serafina said, her hands still moving over Loren’s wounds. “Now…let your magic flow into him. Don’t force it—just let it happen.”
Araya hesitated, staring down at Loren’s limp hand in hers. Her magic—it belonged to Jaxon. Like everything else about her, it was his to direct, to use as he saw fit… but hadn’t he made it clear she was to do whatever was necessary to keep Loren alive?
“Close your eyes,” Serafina urged, her tone gentler this time, but still firm. “You’re overthinking it. Just breathe. Let it happen.”
Araya’s breath hitched, but she obeyed, closing her eyes and taking a shaky breath. Her magic stirred hesitantly beneath her skin, as if unsure of itself. But the moment her magic touched him?—
Warmth, spreading like sunlight breaking through dark clouds. Her heart spasmed in her chest, shuddering as the ice surrounding it thawed. The storm in her mind stilled, giving way to calm, still waters. Safe. She was safe. She was exactly where she belonged?—
Araya opened her eyes, catching her breath as the shadows at the edge of the cellmoved. They reached forward like restless fingers, flickering and curling as they twined around their joined hands.
“What—” Araya started, panicked.
“That’s perfect, Araya,” Serafina said softly. “Don’t stop.”
Arayaknew she should press her, demand an explanation, but the warmth coursing through her dulled her urgency. Her magic flowed freely now, a stream of light flowing from her to him. The shadows wove around them both, a cool, gentle balm, and the pull in her chest softened into something gentler, steadier. Satisfied.
Loren’s chest rose and fell slightly more steadily, his features relaxing as if he, too, could feel the calm spreading between them. He didn’t stir, but Araya tightened her grip, as if holding on to him physically could keep him tethered to life.
“Good,” Serafina said. She moved to the next wound, her magic dimming briefly before flaring bright again. ““Don’t let go, Araya. He still needs more.”
Serafina worked in silence after that, glancing up occasionally to look from Araya’s face to their clasped hands. But whatever she had to say, she kept to herself. Araya’s magic continued to flow, the pull in her chest easing to a gentle tug that ebbed and flowed in time with the faint rise and fall of Loren’s chest.
Finally, Serafina sat back on her heels, the golden glow around her hands fading for the last time. The hum of her power quieted too, the silence of the cell broken by only Loren’s slow, even breaths. Still, Araya didn’t move. She sat beside Loren, his hand clasped in both of hers as she searched his face for a reassurance she couldn’t quite find.
“Is he going to be all right?” she asked finally, her voice small and broken, barely more than a whisper.
“He’s alive,” Serafina said after a long pause, her tone guarded. “You’ve given him a chance—but that’s all I can promise for now. Whoever did this?—”
“Hale,” Araya cut in, still staring at Loren’s face. “His name is Darian Hale. The High Inquisitor. He doesn’t approve of what Jaxon is doing… or of me.”
