Elena drifted in and out of the world like a lantern flickering in strong wind.
Cold air.Warm arms.The steady rise and fall of Soren's breathing beneath her cheek.
She felt movement—him carrying her, fast, relentless—but she couldn't lift her head. Darkness blurred the edges of everything.
Soren never let go.
Not when Kael met them at the gate.Not when the Sentinels formed a protective wall around them.Not even when they reached the temporary encampment in the snowfield beyond the fortress ruins.
Soren did not loosen his grip.
If anything, he held her closer.
As though someone might try to take her again. As though his arms were the only place she remained alive.
He carried her straight into the largest tent, snow melting off his armor, his breath harsh with barely contained panic. When he lowered her onto the furs, even that careful motion drew a broken cry from her lips.
Soren froze.
"Elena… gods." He brushed her hair from her face with trembling fingers. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
She blinked weakly. "Soren… you're—too loud."
His breath caught.
She had no idea how softly he was speaking.
He crouched beside her, hands hovering helplessly. "Tell me where it hurts."
Her voice cracked. "Everywhere."
That broke him a little.
He reached for her wrists first—gently turning them so he could see the raw, torn skin beneath the dried blood. His jaw flexed, rage simmering under the surface, but his touch remained feather-light.
"Elena," he whispered, "who did this to you?"
She swallowed. "…the guard. He—hit me."
Soren closed his eyes—just for a moment—and when he opened them again, something dark glowed beneath the surface.
He traced the bruise forming along her cheekbone with unbearable tenderness. "I should have killed him slower."
She managed a faint, breathy laugh. "Please don't say things like that over my face."
He huffed—a sound half pained, half disbelieving. "Only you would make jokes in this state."
She shifted, a sharp bolt of agony tearing through her side. She gasped, gripping his forearm.
Soren was instantly there, supporting her waist. "What is it?"
"My ribs," she whispered. "I think… cracked?"
Lying hurt. Breathing hurt. Existing hurt.
But when he steadied her, her body leaned into him instinctively.
He froze at the contact—then exhaled, slow and controlled, before pulling her gently against his chest to ease the pressure.
"Rest against me," he murmured. "Please."
She didn't argue.
Her forehead pressed faintly into his collarbone, her breath warm and uneven. Soren cradled her as if she were something precious and breakable.
But then he felt it.
Her skin—hot. Too hot.
"Elena," he said quietly, pressing the back of his hand to her cheek, "you're fevered."
She gave a tiny, miserable sound. "Everything hurts."
His entire body went rigid.
"Rest," he whispered, lowering her carefully onto the furs again. "I'll be right back."
The instant her weight left his arms, she whimpered.
He nearly stayed. Nearly.
But she needed help—help he trusted, which was a list of exactly one person.
Soren strode out of the tent in three long steps.
"Kael!"
Kael appeared instantly, as if summoned by instinct alone. "What is it?"
"Healer," Soren snapped. "Now. Not one of theirs—ours. And no one touches her until I give permission."
Kael nodded. "Done. What else?"
Soren's jaw flexed, eyes burning with something that made even Kael tense. "I want a perimeter. Two Sentinels at every approach. No one enters this camp without being searched. And find the men who fled the outpost—they'll try to regroup."
Kael nodded once—sharp, efficient. "Consider it done."
"And Kael," Soren added, voice dropping low, dangerous, "alert me the moment the healer arrives. I will not leave her again."
Kael hesitated—not in disobedience, but in human concern. "Soren. She's alive. You saved her."
Soren's throat tightened. "Not soon enough."
Before Kael could reply, Soren was already moving—back into the tent, back to her.
He dropped to his knees beside her the moment he crossed the threshold.
"Elena?"
Her eyes flickered open, glassy with fever.
"You… came back," she whispered, voice slurring faintly.
"I'm not leaving."
Her lips parted—half relief, half pain. "Soren… I feel… strange."
He brushed damp hair from her forehead. "Tell me."
"Hot. Cold. Hurts to breathe." She blinked slowly. "Feel… dizzy."
A spike of fear speared through him. He masked it instantly. "You're safe now. The healer is coming."
She swallowed, trembling. "Don't… let go."
Soren leaned closer, voice harsh with emotion he couldn't hide. "Elena. I swear to you—I won't."
Her gaze unfocused. "I didn't think… you'd find me."
He cupped her cheek, thumb brushing lightly over her fevered skin. "There was never a world where I didn't."
Her breathing hitched—shallow, uneven.
Then, soft as a cracked secret: "Soren… it shouldn't… be this easy to think about you."
His heartbeat stuttered.
She blinked slowly, words slipping out like thoughts escaping without permission.
"I kept trying… not to." A faint, delirious laugh. "Didn't work."
He froze. Completely.
Her fingers curled at his chest, seeking warmth, seeking him.
"But… don't tell him," she whispered, barely audible. "It's… a secret."
His breath left him in a slow, shaking exhale—something raw, something unnameable breaking open behind his ribs.
"Elena," he murmured, voice low and wrecked, "your secret is safe."
Her eyes drifted shut at last, lips parted, breathing fragile.
Soren looked toward the tent flap like a man ready to tear the world wide open.
If the healer did not arrive in the next thirty seconds, he would carry her across the entire frozen North himself.