The bond. I marked her out there on the grounds, and I felt the whole world shift on its axis. Then, everything went dark, but the bond stayed. I can feel now that it stayed even through the surgery, even through whatever sedation they gave me, a thread that never broke. Anne is at the other end of it, and I can feel that she is close. That she is awake. That in the last few seconds, something in her has changed, an alertness sharpening, as though—
The curtain at the foot of my bed is pulled back, and I see Anne standing there.
She is dressed in clean clothes that aren’t hers—a shirt too large for her shoulders, jeans rolled up at the ankle. Her hair is down, and there is a cut along her jaw that is healing and will be gone by tomorrow.
“I felt you wake up,” she says.
“I know.” I did know. I felt the moment she felt me. “Come here.”
She steps forward and sits on the edge of the bed. I reach for her hand, and she gives it to me without hesitating.
For a while, we stay like that. Her hand in mine. The bond humming steadily between us, warm and full, mirroring our emotions and senses back to each other. I can recognize her relief, and underneath that, a quieter and more permanent sentiment.
“How do you feel?” she asks.
“Like I was stabbed through the heart.”
“You were stabbed through the heart.”
I turn my head to look at her properly. “Anne.”
“Kain.”
“I love you.” The words come out simply. Just the fact of it, stated plainly. “I have loved you since we were teenagers, and I have not stopped for a single day in the years since, including when I was doing things I’m not proud of. I need you to know that.”
Her throat moves as she swallows, and her fingers tighten around mine. “I know,” she says quietly. “I love you, too.”
She leans down and kisses me softly. I bring my free hand up to her face and hold her there for a moment, feeling the bond sing between us at the contact, pleased with itself, finally settled.
When she pulls back, her eyes are bright. “You have terrible timing,” she tells me. “For everything. For coming back, for the truth, for all of it.”
“I know.”
“We are going to have a very long conversation when you’re recovered.”
“I know that, too.”
She smiles.
From the other side of the curtain next to me, Darius’s unmistakable voice says, with the deliberate patience of a man who has been repeating himself, “One more bite.”
“I’ve had six bites.”
“The healer said you need to keep your strength up.”
“The healer said I need to rest. She said nothing about you standing over me with a spoon.”
“Open.”
“Darius, I swear to the Moon Goddess—”
Anne and I smile at each other. She reaches over and pulls back the curtain.
Darius is seated beside Violet’s bed with a bowl and a spoon, leaning forward. Violet’s arms are crossed, and she looks annoyed.
Darius straightens when he sees us. The spoon lowers slowly.
“You’re awake,” he says to me.
