"What stirs in silence is not the body, but the eyes that wait upon it."
A gentle sway was what I was awoken to. A cool breeze brushed against my skin. Something chilled was pressed to my forehead, blocking my vision but soothing the pounding ache in my skull. Every inch of my body felt raw and tender, as if fire itself had scoured through me. I tried to flex my fingers and winced at the stab of pain from the simple effort.
From somewhere nearby, boots shifted on canvas. A presence lingered in the corner — silent, watchful. When I stirred, the figure moved, and I caught the faint scrape of leather as someone slipped out through the tent flap without a word.
"She's stirring!" a woman's voice called from outside, firm but not unkind.
"About time," a deep, gravelly voice rumbled back, half a laugh under its breath.
Another set of footsteps approached — heavier, quicker. A familiar warmth threaded through my chest at the sound.
"Hey there, Seph." Henry's voice broke in, roughened with concern but brightened by that same irrepressible grin I remembered. He knelt down beside me, tugged the cloth from my eyes, and the blurry light of the tent spilled in.
I squinted, tried to sit, then hissed as pain lashed through my ribs. Henry's hand shot out, steadying my shoulder before I could collapse again.
"Easy there, Seph," he said, his voice gentler now. "You don't gotta prove anything right now. Just breathe. Rest."
Then he leaned back, smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. "Besides, if you move too much, you might spill the slop Namen calls stew. Wouldn't want you suffering twice in one day."
The tent flap snapped open with a metallic whizz. A wooden spoon ricocheted off Henry's head and clattered into the corner.
"IF YOU DON'T LIKE MY COOKING, THEN MAKE YOUR OWN DAMN FOOD!" a man's voice bellowed from outside.
Henry winced, clutching his head, but managed a laugh. "I was joking! Joking!"
Despite the ache in every muscle, a weak chuckle slipped past my lips — and for the first time since the firestorm of pain, it didn't feel quite so impossible to breathe.
Henry lingered for a moment, the empty bowl in his hands, as though reluctant to leave me alone. But finally, he offered me one more crooked grin.
"Get some rest, Seph. You've earned it."
With a sweep of the flap, he was gone, his footsteps fading into the hum of voices outside. The tent felt cavernous without him.
I let my eyes drift shut, the warmth of the stew still curling in my stomach, the ache in my body softening under the promise of sleep.
And then — a flicker.
Like the faint brush of a candle flame deep inside my chest.
Seph…
My breath caught. The voice was weak, fragile — but it was hers.
Linette.
After that crushing silence since the choker, I thought she was gone. But there she was, battered but alive, her presence quivering faintly against my soul.
I wanted to reach out, to tell her everything — how much it hurt, how afraid I'd been, how much I'd missed her. But exhaustion stole the words before I could even form them.
Her warmth pressed against me anyway, a fragile reassurance.
Sleep claimed me, but this time, I didn't fall into it alone.