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We run.

I don't remember starting.

One second he is there.

The next I'm moving.

So is he.

Distance disappears. Twenty feet. Ten. Five.

I expect him to catch me. He always catches me.

He reaches me. His hands close around my waist.

And Rhyven Corvell falls to his knees.

Actually falls. Not graceful. Not deliberate. His knees hit stone hard enough that I hear it. His arms lock around me. His face presses against my stomach.

Then higher when I bend over him.

I freeze. Only because I don't understand.

Rhyven.

On the ground.

Rhyven.

Then I feel him breathe. One broken inhale. And I understand.

He thought I was dead.

My arms wrap around him. Immediately. One around his shoulders. One around the back of his head. His hair damp beneath my fingers. I pull him closer.

As though I can somehow make up for every hour he didn't know.

His grip tightens.

Painfully.

I don't care.

"Rhyven." Nothing. He breathes. Once. Twice.

Then his shoulders shake. One time. Barely.

If I weren't holding him, I might miss it.

Oh.

I close my eyes. My face against the top of his head.

We stay like that. I don't know how long. Ten seconds. Thirty. A lifetime.

Around us— people cry. Dragons mourn. Fire burns.

Someone shouts for medical supplies. Stone collapses somewhere distant. None of it stops. Neither do we.