Warmth.
Soft, steady warmth.
Elena drifted upward through it, as though surfacing from deep water. Her body felt heavy but no longer splitting apart, her ribs aching in a dull, manageable throb rather than lightning bolts.
Something thick and soft weighed across her—something that smelled of pine, cold wind, and the faintest hint of smoke.
Soren.
Her eyes blinked open.
A fur-lined tent ceiling.A low-burning brazier.And draped over her like a shield—
His coat.
Massive. Black. Unmistakably his.
She shifted slightly.
The coat swallowed her whole, warm and impossibly comforting. Her mind fogged again for a moment, teetering between sleep and waking.
Then a shadow moved beside her.
"Elena?"
His voice—quiet, rough from days without rest—cut through the haze.
She turned her head.
Soren sat at her bedside, elbows braced on his knees, tension carved into every line of his posture. His hair was unbound, falling over his brow, and he looked… exhausted.
As in: medically concerning.
"Soren?" Her voice cracked. "Why are you—why are you wearing that expression? Did someone die?"
A breath escaped him—half relief, half disbelief."You're awake." He leaned closer. "Truly awake."
She frowned. "I've been awake."
"No." His jaw flexed. "Not like this. You've been drifting in and out for three days."
Her stomach dropped. "Three—days?"
"You had a fever," he said, tone low and taut. "Your ribs were cracked. Your wrists torn. You barely breathed without pain." A muscle worked in his cheek. "You frightened me."
The last words left him softer than he intended, almost unwilling.
Elena opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
She looked down at the coat."You put this on me."
Soren nodded once. "You were cold. And… you would not release it when I tried to replace it with blankets."
Her ears warmed.
Of course she wouldn't release it. She probably latched onto it like a toddler with a security blanket.
"Well," she murmured, tugging it tighter, "it's comfortable."
His eyes softened—dangerously.
"You are still pale," he said. "You need food."
She made a weak attempt to sit up…and promptly winced as her ribs protested.
Soren moved instantly.
"Stop." His hand braced her back in one smooth, careful motion. "Let me."
He shifted onto the bed behind her, guiding her gently until her body leaned back against his chest. His coat enveloped them both now, heat bleeding through layers of fabric and armor into her spine.
Her brain had opinions about this.
Loud opinions.
"Soren?" she whispered, stiffening slightly.
"Yes."
"Why am I—on your lap?"
"Because," he said calmly, "you cannot sit upright without shaking."
Which was…fair.
Still: her pulse did not have to react like this.
A bowl was brought by a healer outside the tent. Soren took it through the flap, dismissing the man with a look sharp enough to cut stone, then turned back to her.
"Eat," he said.
She reached for the spoon.
Her hand trembled so badly she nearly dropped it.
Soren's fingers closed around hers—steady, gloved, controlled.
"I'll do it."
She swallowed. "You don't have to—"
"Elena." His tone left no room for debate. "Let me."
He brought the spoon to her lips.
She ate.
Slowly. Quietly. Too aware of how close his breath was to her ear, how carefully he timed each bite to her breathing, how the rising heat in her cheeks had nothing to do with fever.
When she'd finished half the bowl, her strength faded again. She rested back against him, breath soft.
"I need to tell you something," she murmured.
Soren stiffened behind her. "What did they say to you?"
She hesitated.
"The man in the infirmary—before they took me—he said…" Her voice wavered. "The rift brought me. That I'm tied to something the Empire wants. That I'm… useful."
She felt Soren's inhale against her shoulder—sharp, controlled, lethal.
"They used you as bait," he said, quiet fury simmering beneath each word. "To lure us. To test Varyn's response. To confirm their theories."
"And the commander?" she whispered. "He said keeping me alive was an order. From the Emperor himself."
Soren's grip around her waist tightened—protective, violent, unable to hide the reaction.
He bowed his head into her shoulder for one breath, one moment, before lifting it again with renewed control.
"We will speak of this," he said, "when your mind is clear and your body stronger."
She opened her mouth to argue.
He cut her off gently.
"No." His lips brushed near her temple—not touching, simply close enough to warm her skin. "You will rest. You will recover. And you will not move from my sight."
Her chest tightened—not with pain.
"You came," she whispered again, needing to say it.
His breath caught.
"Elena." His voice was almost a vow. "I will always come for you."
She closed her eyes, exhaling softly, settling deeper against him, the coat wrapping them like shelter against the cold world beyond.
Soren rested his chin lightly against her hair.
"Sleep," he murmured.
She wasn't sure if she nodded.
But she did.
And this time—she didn't fear the darkness.