The warmth on Mozrael's cheek from Aramith's lap and the gentle rhythm of fingers combing through her hair were comforting.
Her eyes fluttered open to a blur of soft gold light filtering through the canopy above. The forest air was cool on her skin, the scent of damp leaves mingling with faint woodsmoke from the campfire nearby.
He looked down at her, worry drawn in every line of his face as he tried to smile. He'd been awake the whole night, refusing to doze off for even a second.
"You're awake," he murmured, voice low as if afraid she might shatter if he spoke too loudly.
Her temples throbbed in a dull ache, and she made a small sound of discomfort before closing her eyes again. The memories came in flashes—pain like her body was splitting apart, heat flooding her veins, and that blinding blue-gold light beneath her skin. Her breathing quickened.
"Easy," Aramith said quickly, his palm resting lightly against her temple. "It's over now."
