I squeeze my eyes shut. The flashes die.
When I open them, the fire is only fire.
“Exhaustion.” It has to be that. But my body feels strong. Ready. Like it’s been ready for something I can’t fathom.
Her breath stops.
The silence hits before thought does. I’m across the cave, on my knees, hands pressed to her chest before I choose to move. Her ribs are too fragile beneath my palms. Skin too cold.
No!
The word shapes itself without sound. Heat floods down my arms—not gentle. Demanding. I don’t know what I’m doing, only that she cannot slip away while I have breath to stop it.
Her heartbeat stutters. Once.
Nothing.
I press harder. Heat builds until my hands glow against the borrowed shirt she wears, until air shimmers between us. She cannot…I will not—
Her chest jerks. Air tears into her lungs in a rush that sounds like ripping fabric.
I don’t move. Can’t. My hands remain pressed to her ribs, counting beats I just forced back into rhythm. One. Two. Three. Four.
Real. Alive.Here.
Relief tastes like metal. Or terror at how close I came to failing her.
My hands shake as I pull them back. No marks on her skin. No evidence except my pounding pulse and heat still coiled beneath my palms, reluctant to fade.
I stare at my hands like they belong to someone else.
The body can be coaxed back sometimes.
But this was more than coaxing.
This was refusing to let go.
I sit back on my heels and force myself to breathe. To think. She’s stable now. Breathing steady. I did not harm her with… with whatever that was.
These mountains hold power. I said it to her earlier because I know it to be true. I’ve felt it in the walls around me. Tasted it in the air. A steady hum of something… waiting.
She makes a sound. Soft, wordless. Shifts beneath the cloak.
I’m beside her again before logic can intervene. Without thinking, I brush silky hair from her forehead. Her skin is cool now under my rough palm. Smooth. Healing.
My hand lingers longer than necessary.
Pulse visible through her throat. I count it. One. Two. Three. Four. Strong. She’s a fighter. I catch myself smiling, which seems odd, considering the circumstances.
A crackle runs between us—static charge where our skin almost meets. I pull back. Expect it to fade.
It doesn’t.
The sensation remains. Warmth that has nothing to do with fire and everything to do with proximity. I flex my fingers, trying to shake it loose.
Storm. Charged air. That’s all it is.
But my palm still burns with the echo of contact, and when I glance down, her hand has shifted in sleep. Closer to mine. Like her body knows something her mind doesn’t.
