-Elara Voss:
Orin's body trembled violently, his breaths shallow and uneven. His fingers clenched and unclenched, as if his muscles were spasming beyond his control.
His skin was pale, almost sickly, his lips chapped from dehydration. But his eyes—those unnatural, blood-red eyes—were the worst part.
I barely recognized him.
And then, just as suddenly as they had appeared, the red vanished.
Like ink washing away from parchment, his irises bled back into the familiar green I remembered.
He gasped, his whole body lurching forward, barely catching himself against the table. He panted heavily, his shoulders shaking, sweat dripping from his forehead.
"Orin?" I whispered, stepping forward despite Ronan's arm still half-blocking my way.
He blinked up at me, his eyes clear now, but filled with exhaustion. With pain.
And relief.
"Elara," he rasped, his voice cracking, rough as if he hadn't used it in days. "I—"
He staggered forward.
