She's not moving.
"No." The word tears from my throat as I cross the small space in three strides. "No, no, fuck—Heidi."
I drop to my knees beside the bed, my hands shaking as I reach for her. Her skin is cold under my palm, far too cold for someone who should be burning with life. But I can feel her heartbeat, thread-thin but there, and the faint warmth of breath against my fingers when I hold them near her mouth.
Alive. Barely, but alive.
The bond between us flickers weakly, like a candle in a strong wind. I can feel how much it's taken from her—more than it took from me, somehow. Maybe because I'm xaphan, maybe becauseI'm stronger, maybe because I’m made to handle the strain of magic and she can’t.
Doesn't matter. What matters is that she's dying, and it's my fault for letting her run. For giving her the space I thought she needed when what she actually needed was to be here, with me, letting the bond settle properly between us.
"I'm sorry." The words come out broken as I slide my arms beneath her, lifting her against my chest. She weighs almost nothing, all sharp bones and fragile skin. "I'm so fucking sorry, little thief. I should have come sooner."
She doesn't respond, doesn't even stir at the movement. Her head lolls against my shoulder, and I can feel how much effort each breath costs her. The bond pulses weakly between us, just strong enough to confirm that this connection is the only thing keeping her alive.
Keeping us both alive.
I've never felt terror like this. Not when facing down enemies twice my size, not when Irida had a fever that wouldn't break when she was barely two years old, not when I thought I might lose everything I'd built.
This is different. This is the kind of fear that reaches into your chest and squeezes until you can't breathe. The kind that makes you understand exactly how much you have to lose.
Because I love her. Not just want her, not just need her because of some magical compulsion. I love this fierce, stubborn woman who challenges me at every turn, who makes my daughter laugh, who trusts me with her body even when she's afraid to trust me with her heart.
I love her, and I almost lost her because I was too much of a coward to fight for what we both wanted.
Never again.
I adjust my grip on her, making sure she's secure against my chest before I stand. My legs shake with the effort, the bond stilldraining what little strength I have left. But determination burns in my chest now, hot and bright and unshakeable.
She might hate me for this. Might never forgive me for taking away her choice again, for making decisions about her life without her consent. But I'll take her hatred over her death. Will take her fury and her fear and whatever else she wants to throw at me, as long as she's alive to do it.
The hallway seems longer on the way out, each step a monumental effort. But I keep moving, keep her pressed close against me where I can feel the weak flutter of her pulse. Where I can whisper promises against her hair that she probably can't hear but I need to say anyway.
"I've got you," I murmur as I navigate the narrow stairs. "I'm going to fix this. Going to make this right."
The cold air outside hits us like a slap, and I feel her shiver weakly against me. My magic stirs in response, what little I can still access wrapping around us both like a blanket. Not much, but enough to keep the chill from her skin.
Enough to buy us a little more time.
Because that's all we need. Just a little more time, and I'll make sure we never have to face this kind of separation again.
18
HEIDI
Pain. That's all I am anymore—a collection of sharp edges and raw wounds wrapped in skin that feels too thin to contain anything. Each breath scrapes against my lungs like broken glass, and my bones ache so deeply I think they might be turning to dust inside me.
I want to die.
The thought should terrify me, but I'm too exhausted for fear. Too hollowed out by whatever's eating me alive from the inside. Death would be relief at this point. An end to this agony that's consumed every moment since I walked away from?—
No. Can't think about that. Can't think about him or the way his face looked when I bolted from his office. Can't think about Irida asking where I went, or the warmth I felt when his magic wrapped around me like a living thing.
Can't think about how much I miss them both.
But then something changes. Cold air hits my face like a slap, sharp and clean after the stale warmth of my apartment. I should shiver, should curl deeper into myself to escape it, but I can't move. Can barely breathe. Can only exist in this space between awareness and nothing.
Arms. There are arms around me, strong and warm and impossibly gentle. They hold me like I'm something precious instead of the broken thing I've become. The scent that clings to whoever's carrying me makes my chest flutter with something that isn't quite recognition but feels like home anyway.
