Rain's POV
That night, I was the one holding Batista.
His body was burning with fever and cold at the same time — shivering one moment, drenched in sweat the next. I wrapped my arms tighter around him, pressing my cheek against his back, trying to steady his breath with mine.
He couldn't rest.
He'd jolt awake every now and then, gasping, mumbling in a language I didn't understand — sometimes whispering in riddles, sometimes shouting words that sounded older than time itself. Once or twice, he screamed so loud it shook the walls.
But through it all, I never let go.
"I'm here," I whispered over and over again, brushing his damp hair off his face. "It's alright, I'm here, I've got you."
Even when he thrashed, even when his muscles tensed as though he were fighting invisible enemies, I held him — because if I didn't, I was scared he'd drift somewhere I couldn't follow.
And maybe he already had.
When I finally slipped into sleep, the darkness didn't bring Azrath this time.
