Then her gaze slid sideways and found him.
His heart stopped. One beat, two, three, before it remembered how to work again. His vision blurred at the edges. His hands clenched the armrests so hard the bone groaned.
The confusion in her expression cleared. Her eyes widened, focused on his face with that intelligence he'd come to crave more than his next breath.
"Dante?"
The word came out hoarse, barely a whisper.
But it was his name. His name in her voice, the voice he'd been terrified he would never hear again. The sound broke something open in him. Two days of held breath, held hope, held terror, cracking apart at the sound of two syllables.
She knew him. Recognized him.Remembered.
The breath he'd been holding tore out of him. His whole body released forty-eight hours of held tension in a single exhale—shoulders dropping, spine curving, hands finally unclenching. His shadows exploded outward, darkening the room, writhing along the walls.
"You're awake." His voice came out wrecked. "You're really awake."
She blinked at him, processing, then tried to sit up. Her arms trembled. She got maybe an inch off the pillow before her strength gave out.
He moved without thinking.
One hand behind her back, the other supporting her arm, lifting her carefully. Her muscles were weak from disuse, her body still recovering.
But she was moving. Breathing. Here.
He got her settled against the pillows, adjusting them with more care than he'd shown anything in ages. His hands lingered on her shoulders, not quite able to let go yet.
She looked up at him. Her eyes swept over his face, taking in the exhaustion written in every line, the way his shadows clung weakly to him. Cataloguing his state.
"How long?" she asked.
"Two days." He pulled his hands back. Forced himself to give her space even though everything in him wanted to hold on. "You've been unconscious."
Her eyes widened. "Two—" She stopped, then her gaze sharpened on him. "You look terrible."
A rough sound escaped him that was almost a laugh. "I'm fine."
"You're not." Her hand lifted, reached for his face. "You've been here the whole time, haven't you?"
Her fingers touched his jaw. The contact sent warmth flooding through the bond. His hand came up instinctively, covering hers and holding it against his cheek.
"Yes," he admitted quietly.
"Dante—"
"You died." The words scraped his throat raw. "You died in my arms and I couldn't—" His voice broke. "I wasn't leaving."
Her expression softened. Her thumb brushed his cheekbone.
"But I came back," she said simply. "We both did."
His eyes closed just for a moment. Letting himself feel her touch, her presence. When he opened them again, she was watching him with understanding.
"What happened?" she asked quietly. "After Caelum's attack. I remember the pain. Then..." Her brow furrowed. "Then nothing. Just darkness. And then I felt you. Pulling me back."
Dante pulled the chair closer with shadows, positioned it so they were at eye level. Her hand slipped from his face but he caught it, held it in both of his.
"Caelum's strike tore your soul from your body." His voice came out even. Like he could control this if he just explained it properly. "The courts were pulling at you. Fighting over you. You were fragmenting. Coming apart."
