I only feel her.
Jarek moves in closer to Thane, bracing himself, both of them pushing back against Thane’s strength.
“Are you insane?” Jarek hisses, digging his heels in, his arms locked tight around Thane’s shoulder. “Look at her! You can’t touch her right now!”
Thane grits his teeth, muscles straining, his eyes locked on me, on the magics, on what’s happening to me. “I don’t care,” he snarls, still trying to push past them, still trying to reach me.
Fear radiates from him. The bond thunders inside me, relentless, a second heartbeat pounding against my ribs. I can feel his panic, his desperation, his fear of losing me.
I can’t give any energy to the bond, to him. I am completely focused on Lyra.
Then I feel it. A pulse that isn’t just magics, isn’t just me. It’s her. Lyra. Her heartbeat, stronger now, steadier. Her breath no longer weak, no longer slipping away. And then—she stirs. A small movement, the slightest shift beneath my hands, but I feel it.
Relief crashes through me—stronger than pain, stronger than breath. A sob tears free—pain, yes. Exhaustion, yes.
But more than anything: Lyra. Alive.
Tears blur my vision, hot and unstoppable, spilling down my cheeks as I cling to her. The magics that had been surging, wild, alive with relentless force slows. The light dissolves. Quiet energy clings to my skin like fog.
The energy that had raged around me, pushing toward the cavern ceiling, now winds back inward, as if it has done what it came to do.
A breath.
A heartbeat.
Lyra.
Alive.
The cavern falls silent.
Jarek and Rian release their hold on Thane. He steps forward—fast, tense—then stops. Close enough to feel, but not touching. His eyes—wide and full of worry—locked on me. His hands hover at his sides, like he wants to reach for me—but doesn’t.
Garrick exhales sharply, dragging a shaking hand across hisface. He takes a step forward, then stops, eyes flicking between Lyra’s still form and the place where my magics had just been. His voice is raw. “By the gods!”
Valen lets out a breath, shaking his head, eyes still locked on me with something like awe. “She completely healed her.” His voice is quiet, reverent. “She pulled her back.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. Because Lyra’s chest rises and falls. Because she’s alive. And because my hands are still shaking. The only sound is my breath—uneven. The soft hum of my magics. The rhythm of Lyra’s heart.
Lyra stirs. A twitch of her fingers beneath mine. A small, shallow inhale. Her eyelids flutter. For a long, agonizing moment, nothing happens. Then—her lips part.
A whisper. “Amara . . . ?”
A single, weak word. But it shatters something inside me. A sob breaks loose. Relief—pure and crushing.
I let out a breathless laugh, choking on tears, my fingers gripping hers, grounding myself in the proof that she’s here. That she’s alive.
I smile.
Then the world tilts. Light blurs. The rush of magics draining out of me—gone, all at once.
A dull, faraway voice—Thane, I think, calling my name. Then strong arms wrap around me, catching me before I can fall. I barely register the warmth, the strength, the way my body folds into his.
A distant thought drifts through my mind, hazy but certain.
Thane. He always catches me.
Everything goes black.
