I closed my eyes and let go.
The transition was gentler than I remembered.
One moment, I was Kailin, lying in a comfortable bed with the man I loved watching over me. Next, I was a mountain owl, gliding on silent wings through the cold night air.
The world looked different through owl eyes. Sharper. Despite the darkness, every detail of the landscape below stood out in stark relief. I could hear a mouse moving through the underbrush a hundred feet below. I could feel the air currents shifting, telling me where the thermals were, where the wind would carry me.
I let the owl hunt, content to ride along in its consciousness without directing its actions. It dove, talons extended, and came up with something small and squeaking. The taste of blood filled my borrowed mouth, and I pulled back, letting the owl's instincts take over while I observed from a distance.
It was just nature doing what nature did, but I didn't have to experience it up close.
I drifted to another consciousness, a fox this time, trotting along a game trail with its nose to the ground. Its world was a vast tapestry of smells. Old deer tracks. Fresh rabbit droppings. The distant musk of a rival fox marking its territory.
Nothing alarming. Nothing threatening.
I moved again, and again, sampling the night through a dozen different creatures. A bat navigating by sound alone, its world a constant pulse of echoes. A mountain cat prowling the high ridges, its eyes piercing the darkness. A snake coiled beneath a rock, its heat-sensing pits painting a thermal map of its surroundings.
Somehow it felt easier this time, like it was a natural extension of me, and I enjoyed it, but I was also a little disappointed that I would have nothing interesting to report. I'd prepared myself for danger, and finding only the ordinary rhythms of the night felt anticlimactic.
But this was good. It meant no one was dying a violent death in the hands of the Shedun or the traitors.
I let myself drift between consciousnesses until the tea's effects began to fade, the connections growing thinner and more tenuous. When the last thread snapped, I found myself back in my own body, staring at the ceiling of our bedroom.
Morning light filtered through the curtains. I'd been dreaming all night.
I turned my head and found Alar in the armchair instead of the bed, watching me. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. He hadn't slept at all.
"Hey," I said. "Why didn't you get in bed?"
He didn't respond.
I pushed myself up on my elbows, cataloging how I felt. Tired, definitely. Less rested than if I'd slept normally, but also lighter. The constant anxiety that had been pressing on my chest since the attack had eased. I'd done something useful. I'd used my gift.
I smiled at him. "See? I'm fine. Nothing bad happened."
Alar didn't smile back.
"You're killing yourself," he said flatly.
The words hit me like a slap. "That's not true."
"You say you're fine, but you're not." He stood, his movements stiff with suppressed anger. "How long until there's nothing left of you?"
"Stop with the drama." The words came out sharper than I intended. "I had one session at half dose, and it was actually relaxing. I enjoyed it."
Hurt flickered beneath the anger. "Drama? That's what you call it?"
"Alar—"
"You almost died three days ago. I watched someone try to strangle you. I had to shoot a man in the head to save your life, and you're telling me to stop being dramatic?"
Guilt twisted in my stomach. I'd been so focused on my own burdens that I'd forgotten what that night must have been like for him.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "That was unfair."
He stood by the window, his back to me, tension visible in every line of his body. "I can't lose you, Kailin. I can't. And every time you push yourself like this, every time you insist on sacrificing yourself for the greater good, you're forcing me to watch you fade away piece by piece."
"I'm not fading away."
