Then a scream rips through the room.
My chest cracks open with panic.
Amara’s eyes fly open—wide, wild—staring, but not seeing. They dart around the room, unfocused. Terrified. She’s fighting something I can’t see. Something I can’t reach.
And it’s tearing her apart.
“Hold her down!” one of the healers shouts.
Healer Marion.
She’s been saving lives in this capital since before I was born. Time has curled her spine and twisted the joints of her fingers, but none of it touches her strength. Or her heart.
She stands at Amara’s side, hands braced on her shoulders, holding her firm.
Two more healers rush to help, moving fast, stepping to either side of the cot. They press their hands to Amara’s arms and legs, keeping her still, keeping her from tearing herself open any further.
“Sleep, child,” Marion murmurs—soft, but with the weight of command behind it.
Amara’s eyes flutter. Then close. And she goes still.
I take a step back, then another, until my shoulders slam into the stone wall behind me. And I just stand there, breathing like I’ve been gutted.
Gods, don’t take her from me. Not her. Not now.
I feel a hand grip my shoulder—firm, grounding.
I whip my head around, teeth clenched, barely holding back the instinct to strike. My vision narrows, breath coming fast, wild.
Valen.
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just holds my gaze.
His hand stays right where it is, steady as stone, eyes calm in a way that makes me want to scream.
“She’s in good hands,” he says quietly. “Let them work.”
I shake my head, jaw tight. “Ifelther go under, Valen. Before she passed out—I felt it.” My voice breaks, low and raw. “What the hell is happening—to her? To me?”
The silence that follows is heavy. Not from lack of knowing. But because hedoes.
Valen doesn’t let go. His grip stays firm—a silent tether, anchoring me when I feel like I’m about to come apart at the seams.
I stare at him, breathing hard. “What is this?” My voice is barely more than a rasp. “What the fuck is happening to me?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes drop to Amara, lying so still it makes my chest seize all over again.
Healer Marion now stands at her head, her palms pressed gently to either side of Amara’s face, eyes closed in concentration. Two other healers flank her body—one on either side—partially blocking my view.
But I can see her chest.
It rises. Falls. Shallow, but steady.
My hands unclench slightly—just enough to breathe again.
Then—quietly, Valen responds, “I don’t know for certain. Notyet.”
“Try.” The word comes out sharper than I intend. “Because I felt her, Valen. Not like some training bond or combat sync—I felt her pain.Like it was mine.”
