The world had been noise for two straight days.
The Cradle's pressure still lived somewhere behind his eyes—heat that refused to cool, hunger that refused to fade. His body had mended, but his nerves hadn't caught up. Every breath still felt like it might split him apart again.
Sleep had become a myth. Food, irrelevant. The only thing that remained clear was motion—forward, always forward.
Then came Erin.
Her gaze, her questions, the weight of her suspicion—it had been like standing beneath a star and pretending not to burn.
Convincing her had cost him more than mana; it had cost composure, restraint, sanity held together by wire and pride.
Now, inside the still air of his villa, it all pressed down at once.
Elysia's presence was the first thing in days that didn't feel hostile.
The faint rhythm of her breath, the steady scent of clean linen and steel—ordinary things. Human things.
