He looks down at me, his arms still wrapped around my body, his legs beneath my head, supporting me. His eyes are wild, searching, sharp.
He’s holding me, but it’s more than that. I feel him through the bond. His relief, his fear, his silent demand that I stay. That I don’t leave him.
I try to speak, but the words stick in my throat. I’m so tired. Strong arms pull me up, pull me in. I sink into the warmth of Thane—leather, fire smoke, steel.
Home.
His breath shudders against my hair. “Gods, Amara. You’reso fucking reckless.”
I manage a laugh. Weak, breathless. “I like to keep you guessing.”
Thane exhales sharply. “Please stop.” His arms tighten around me, his grip unrelenting, desperate.
I let my eyes drift past his shoulder, searching—and find her.
Lyra.
She’s sitting up now, leaning against the wall. Pale, exhausted—but alive. Garrick is crouched beside her, his hand wrapped around hers, thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles.
Lyra’s blue eyes meet mine, bright despite the strain. She smiles faintly, lips parting just enough to whisper a silent thank you.
Tears sting. I press into Thane, gripping him like he’s the only solid thing left.
I shift slightly, my cheek still resting against him as I turn to Valen. “How long was I out?”
“Just a few moments.” His voice is gentle but measured. “Your eyes are bloodshot, your nose is bleeding, and there are purple bruises under your eyes. A little pale. All of this is expected after what you just did, my girl.” He dabs my nose with a tissue from his robes. “Can you stand?”
I inhale slowly, steadying myself. “I think so. Just . . . a little weak.”
“I’ve got you.” Thane doesn’t wait. His arm slips around my waist, strong and steady, bracing me before I can even try. I lean into him, my muscles liquid.
Nearby, Garrick pulls Lyra up, his grip firm but careful. She wobbles slightly, but when her gaze finds mine, she steadies.
Then, without a word, she falls into my arms.
I catch her, holding her tightly, my face buried in her copper-red hair. No quips. No teasing remarks. Just us. Holding each other.
Lyra says nothing. She just holds me. And for the first time since this nightmare began, I let myself breathe.
She pulls back, stepping into Garrick’s waiting arms. Her smirk flickers back to life—faint, but there.
“I hate this. I feel like some delicate damsel in distress.” She leans into Garrick, sighing as if she’s performing on stage. “Carry me dramatically or leave me here.”
And she’s back.
Garrick exhales, the tension draining from his shoulders. I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face.
Lyra exhales, turning to take in the cavern, her blue eyes sharp despite everything. “What is this place?” she asks, her voice hushed, almost reverent.
The tunnels are gone. Replaced by ethereal light. The walls—smooth, polished, impossibly seamless—are a deep, midnight blue, like the sky at its darkest hour. And within them, something sparkles. Not gems. Not ore.
Stars.
And it’s breathtaking.
We’re deep underground. But there’s light—woven into the chamber itself. The glow is subtle, shifting, alive, the stars inside the walls pulse with their own quiet life.
No one speaks at first. Then, Valen steps forward, his gaze sharpening as he studies the surface. His fingers hover just above the markings etched into the stone, his breath slow, measured.
