I never thought Sahora could hug so tightly, her smell of night orchids and rain clinging to the air around me.
“Sahora—” I managed, breath catching.
She loosened her grip just enough to pull back and look at me. Her eyes were wild, bright, and wet at the edges. Through the bond, her thought hit me with the force of a blade:
Don’t you ever leave me like that again.
I swallowed, lifting a hand to her face. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t pull away. She leaned into my palm like she’d been waiting for it. My chest tightened.
I don’t plan to.
For a moment, we just sat there, her breath against my cheek, my hand on her skin, the world finally quieted around us.
I thought I had died. The thought slipped out before I could control it.
She must have caught it through the bond because her breath hitched, just barely, but I felt it through the bond like a tremor. She didn’t pull away.
If anything, she leaned closer, forehead still pressed to mine, as if letting go would undo the miracle of me waking.
I exhaled slowly, the motion shaky, unfamiliar. The Essence pulsed faintly in my chest, warm and steady, like it was relearning how to beat with me instead of against me.
Sahora’s fingers slid from my shoulders to my jaw, holding me there, grounding me.
“You scared me,” she whispered aloud this time, her voice rough, scraped raw from silence.
“I know.” My voice cracked. “I’m sorry.”
Her eyes flashed, not with anger, but something sharper. “Don’t apologize for surviving.”
I swallowed. “It didn’t feel like surviving.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing me in like she needed proof I was real. “It never does.”
I nodded, though my body felt like sand and exhaustion. “How long was I out?”
“Thirty days.” Her thumb brushed my cheek, slow, reverent. “Thirty days of you breathing but not waking. Thirty days of me thinking—” She cut herself off, jaw tightening.
I covered her hand with mine. “I’m here,” my voice faint.
“I’m here,” I said again, steadier this time.
She met my gaze, her mismatched eyes searching my eyes for something she hadn’t quite found. I pressed my palm to her cheek and pulled her closer.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered, filling the space between us.
“I believe that you believe that.” Her voice was rough, as if the words hurt to say. A rustle sounded in front of the tent.
Cyrus’s voice choked with relief. “He’s awake?”
Sahora didn’t move. She didn’t even look back. “He’s awake.”
Ami let out a breath, as if she’d been holding it for all thirty days. Briar murmured something like a prayer. Even the Hollowfang pressed its head against my shoulder, whining low in its throat.
But Sahora…
She stayed exactly where she was, forehead against mine, hands on my face, as if she couldn’t trust her eyes unless she felt me too.
“Can you sit up?” she asked quietly, rocking back on her legs and sitting up.
“I think so,” I told her.
She helped me, slow and careful, as if I were something breakable. Maybe I was. My limbs trembled, my breath stuttered, the world tilted, but her arm was around me instantly, steady and sure. The bond pulsed warm, relieved, aching.
I leaned into her without thinking. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You did,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “But you came back.”
I looked at her, really looked, at the exhaustion under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, the way she hadn’t let go of my hand since the moment I woke.
“I heard you,” I said.
She pulled back, her shock radiating through the bond. “What?”
“In the dark. When everything was quiet.” I squeezed her fingers. “I heard you asking me to come back.”
Her eyes softened, something breaking open behind them.
“Good,” she whispered. “Then listen again.”
She leaned her forehead to mine once more. “We do the rest of this together.”
“Together,” I repeated as I pulled her closer and breathed her in. The memories from my time comatose scratched at the back of my mind.