Cassia swept in, hugging Avine so tightly that Theo heard her wheeze. “Never again.” Cassia’s voice cracked on the words. “You hear me? Never.”
“Noted.” Avine patted Cassia’s back.
Narla was last and quietest. She stood beside the bed, touched Avine’s forehead briefly, and nodded. “You’ll be fine. The magic is stabilizing.” She looked down. “You scared us.”
“I’m sorry.” Avine sounded like she meant it.
Through it all, Theo stayed. Not touching her constantly, but never far—leaning against the wall when the witches crowded the bed, returning to his chair when they left. Avine’s gaze found him periodically, checking that he was still there, and every time he met her eyes, a different kind of ache settled in his chest—not pain this time, but relief. Hope. A dangerous tenderness he’d stopped trying to deny.
He wasn’t going anywhere either.
Evening brought quiet.
The witches had been herded out by Dahlia, who insisted Avine needed rest more than she needed company. Narla’s candles had burned low, casting long shadows across the room. Outside, Cassia had finally released the weather, and rain fell in soft, steady sheets against the windows.
Theo had moved his chair closer to the bed. Close enough that when Avine turned her head, their faces were only inches apart.
“I didn’t know I could do that.” Her voice was stronger now, but still rough around the edges. “What I did. The sea magic.” She shook her head. “I’ve never had sea magic. It’s not in my lineage. I don’t understand where it came from.”
“Neither did I.” Theo studied her face, the confusion there, the lingering fear. “You were… incredible. Terrifying, but incredible.”
“It scared me.”
“It terrified me.”
She turned to look at him fully, her expression serious. “Not the power. I mean—yes, the power too. But that’s not what scared me most.”
“What did?”
“Using it for someone else.” Her voice dropped, vulnerability creeping in. “Being willing to. I saw that construct going for Dahlia, and I didn’t think about whether I could survive it. I moved. Gave everything I had without hesitation.” She paused. “It’s been a long time since I cared about anything enough to risk myself.”
Theo heard what she wasn’t saying.
“You have people worth risking for now.” His voice was soft. “Friends who love you.”
“Yes.” Her gaze held his. “And maybe one person in particular.”
The air between them thickened. Theo’s hand found hers again—or maybe hers found his, he wasn’t sure anymore—their fingers intertwining with the ease of long practice.
“Avine…”
“Not tonight.” She squeezed his hand, a small smile playing at her lips. “I know there are things we need to talk about. Things we should probably say. But right now, I’m exhausted and I look terrible and I’d rather wait until I can have this conversation without feeling like I might pass out halfway through.”
He huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. “Fair.”
“For the record, though.” She looked at him with those brown eyes, soft despite the exhaustion. “Whatever we are… I’m not running from it anymore.”
His heart kicked hard against his ribs. “Neither am I.”
She smiled then—real and tired and beautiful—and closed her eyes. Within minutes, her breathing had evened out, her hand still wrapped in his.
Theo watched her sleep, protectiveness and tenderness warring in equal measure.
Later—muchlater—Beck found him in the chair.
Avine was deeply asleep now, her color better, her breathing steady. The crisis had passed. Theo knew he should go home, shower, handle the mountain of responsibilities that had piled up in his absence.
He hadn’t moved.
