Thirty days.
Thirty days of Oliver breathing but not waking.
Thirty days of his chest rising too shallow, too slow.
Thirty days of watching him slip somewhere I couldn’t follow.
Briar tried spells.
Cyrus tried scrolls.
Ami tried herbs.
Nothing worked.
They said he was alive, but trapped in his mind. I tried reaching for him through the bond. It echoed back with a silence so hollow it made my ribs ache. So I stayed. I stayed next to him as he laid on the small bedroll. My hands shaking at the thought of him not waking up. My vision focused on the rise and fall of his chest until it was all I saw.
Rise and fall slowly, painfully. A rthyme I found myself weighing time against. Sometimes they were slow, so slow that counting them became agonizing. Other times his breath picked up and it seemed like he was fighting something.
How many chest rises came between sunrise and sunset? Seventeen thousand on average. I counted them as if they kept me sane.
Though I wasn’t sure it worked.
Something warm pressed into my hands.
My vision refocused.
Briar stood in front of me and handed me a bowl of stew.
“He would want you to eat,” she said.
I took it.
The smell hit me first, rich, warm, comforting in a way nothing in Serlane ever was. I lifted the spoon to my mouth. The broth burst with flavor, heat spreading through my chest.
“I just want him to be okay,” I whispered, setting the bowl down beside me.
Briar exhaled softly. “Sometimes when we’re locked in our minds, it’s because we need to accept something we buried there.”
My throat tightened. “How do I help him fight something that’s inside his own mind?”
“You wait,” she said gently. “You wait until he wakes. And he will wake.”
She pointed at the bowl. “And you’re going to finish that. I expect it to be gone when I come back.” With that, she walked out of the tent, the flap whipping in the wind.
The last of the broth burned as I swallowed it.
I watched Oliver as if he would move suddenly. Slowly, I reached for his hand, his fingers loose.
“Oliver, if you can hear me, come back.” My voice cracked.
“Before you.” My throat was so painfully tight as I fought back my emotions. “Life was heavy, something I had to carry alone, no matter the cost.” I cleared my throat.
“It was my burden.” My voice faded.
“Until you. It was like you took one look at what I carried and said, 'I can help,’ then you just took half of it without asking for anything.” I tried not to release the pain I felt in my chest.
Rain began to crash against the tent canvas; thunder cracked so loudly. Though I knew it was my abilities causing this storm, I couldn’t pull myself away or stop it.
“You… you can’t leave… I want to help you with what you carry.” I leaned forward, pressing my forehead to his.
I stayed there, my hand in his, for a long time. The world was quiet. Only his shallow, uneven breath kept me tethered.
“Please… come back to me,” I whispered.
Silence.
Silence so hollow it gutted me.
Silence that threatened to absorb me.
I fought the tears that wanted to rip through my chest.
Then—
Faintly, through the bond, a small tug pulled in my chest. His fingers tightened around mine.
I took in a breath and held it.
“You sure?” he rasped, voice rough as stone. “It’s pretty heavy stuff to carry.”
I breathed out and threw my arms around him as if he was the air I needed.