Eyrx stared at Thalina's sleeping figure like he was in pain.
Her body—usually so warm, so soft—now burned against his skin with a heat so unnatural, it felt like punishment. Her chest rose and fell slowly, too slowly. He'd carried her for hours, every second spent praying to gods he didn't believe in that she'd open her eyes. Say something. Complain. Wiggle. Just breathe a little louder.
But now, lying in the safety of his hidden cave, bundled tightly in hides and tucked against the soft moss, she looked… lifeless.
Still.
Too still.
He crouched beside her, not daring to touch her again. Her skin had scorched him earlier. Not literally, but the heat had seeped into him, stirred something deep and ancient that made his heart twist. The kind of helplessness he despised.
"Little flame," he whispered, voice ragged, reaching for her but stopping an inch above her cheek. He couldn't risk it again. Not when she was this fragile.
She didn't move.
Not even a flinch.
