I finish the tea and set the mug back down. The calm should carry me straight into sleep.
It doesn’t.
My brain keeps circling back to what I saw. That silver thread between Thane and me. The other sanctuary that felt hollow. My mirror-self with black Ether pooling around her feet.
I shift under the blankets, listening to the quiet. The tea helped, but didn’t erase everything. I’m tired but not settled, balanced on that knife’s edge where sleep might happen if I stop thinking.
Good luck with that.
A soft knock interrupts the silence. Deliberate, but not urgent. Not hesitant either.
I freeze. Maybe it’s Theo, still shaken from his vision. Or Wes, drawn by whatever restless energy he’s been carrying lately. But something about the rhythm feels different.
The door opens just enough for someone to slip through.
Stellan.
He stands in the doorway like he’s waiting for permission to exist in the same space as me. Moonlight catches the sharp line of his jaw, but I can’t read his expression from here.
He doesn’t move closer. Doesn’t speak. Just… waits.
There’s a question in his stillness that I don’t entirely understand. But somehow, I know what he’s asking.
I tilt my head at him.
He crosses the room like he’s done this before, but careful. No assumptions. When he reaches the bed, he pauses again.
“Okay?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
I nod.
He climbs onto the bed with that fluid grace of his, settling behind me without crowding. When his arm slides around my waist, I stiffen—because that’s what I do—but he just murmurs, “Shh,” once, low and calm.
His hold is loose. Present, but not possessive.
The knot in my chest starts to loosen. My breathing shifts to match his without me deciding to. The sharp edges that the tea couldn’t quite reach begin to blur.
“How?” I whisper.
He’s quiet for so long I think he won’t answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft against my hair.
“Your peace matters more than what it costs me.”
I should probably ask what he means. Should wonder what this is costing him.
Instead, I let myself sink back against him.
Whatever his magic is doing, it’s working. The anxious spiral in my head slows, then stops. My eyelids get heavy in a way that feels natural instead of forced.
The visions from the mirror fade to background noise—still there, but manageable. Like turning down the volume on a song that was too loud.
The last thing I’m aware of is his steady breathing and the way his presence makes the room feel safer. Just as I’m drifting off, his arm tightens around me—barely, but enough that I feel it. Like he’s anchoring me to something solid.
The last conscious thought I have is still wondering if that dark vision was a warning or a promise.
But at least now I’m not wondering alone.
Chapter 2
