Page 69 of Death Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Greyson’s gaze flicked toward me. “If you touch it wrong, you might amplify the dark magic.”

“I know,” I said, and my voice came out steadier than I felt. “But if we do nothing, the spots spread.”

Cal watched me like he was deciding whether to let a stranger near his heart.

Then he nodded once. “Do it.”

I reached into the safe.

The egg was warm in places, cold in others. The dark patches were cooler, dense, as if they absorbed heat instead of holding it. My palm hovered over one of the spots and my skin crawled, not from fear, but from the sensation of something feeding.

I closed my eyes and called on the part of me that knew how to mend.

Healing always felt like a quiet river. Steady. Patient. It didn’t force. It invited the body to remember how to be whole.

I pressed my hands to the shell.

Warmth flowed from me into the egg.

At first, nothing happened.

Then the shell pulsed under my palms, a subtle thrum, like a heartbeat you could barely detect.

Relief flickered through my chest.

And then resistance met my healing.

Not from the egg.

From outside it.

A pressure that pushed back against my warmth, like the dark patches wanted to stay dense. Wanted to spread. Wanted to finish the job.

My breath hitched.

Eve’s voice was close. “Salima.”

“I’m fine,” I lied.

Faith leaned in. “You’re not fine.”

I pushed harder, letting more healing current pour through me. It burned in my veins, not painful exactly, but demanding.

The dark patches trembled.

For a heartbeat, the edge of one spot lightened, the color shifting toward the egg’s original gray.

“Good,” I whispered.

The pressure surged again, like whatever was pulling on the egg noticed my interference.

My hands shook.

I could stop. I should stop. Not because I didn’t want to help, but because forcing healing against an opposing current was like trying to hold a door shut while someone kicked it from the other side.

Then I felt it.

A link already existed here. A bond between Cal and the egg, thick with protection and grief, and hope.