And that’s what I tell myself as I continue to check him over.
“Let me listen to your lungs,” I say, already reaching for my stethoscope. “Smoke inhalation can be serious.”
He lets me. Doesn’t flinch when I reach inside his black shirt and press the cold metal to his chest.
His heartbeat is steady. Strong.
Too steady for someone pulled from a fire.
“What’s your name?” I ask, because I can’t not. The question slips out before I can stop it, raw and human and stupidly necessary.
“I am Thorne.”
The name lands heavy. Solid. Dangerous.
Like a warning carved into stone.
It’s too much.
The fire.
The heat rolling off him.
The way he’s looking at me.
I drop my gaze, suddenly hyper-aware of how close we are, of how fast my heart is pounding.
His fingers close around my chin.
Not rough—but unyielding.
He lifts my face until I’m looking at him again, forced to meet eyes that glow like banked coals.
“And you,” he says, voice low, reverent in a way that makes my skin prickle, “are mine, Shula.”
The words hit me like a live wire.
They hum through my body, low and resonant, like something ancient waking up.
Sparks skitter along my nerves.
Heat blooms in my chest, not fear exactly—more like recognition. The kind that makes no sense and feels too real.
“My name is Delia Esposito,” I say quickly, too quickly. “Just Delia.”
A corner of his mouth curves. Not a smile.
Something sharper. Dangerous.
“Delia, yes,” he says, tasting it. “But I came here searching for someone, and the Fates brought me to you, Shula.”
My pulse stutters. “W—what?”
“You will come with me to the Broken Plains,” he growls, voice vibrating through my bones, “and together we will tame the land, unite the people, and drive the SoulTakers back into the dark where they belong.”
I blink at him.
Once. Twice.
