Rory couldn't die.
If she did, there would be no other female capable of calming Paros's violently restless mental power. No one else could endure the pressure of his fractured thoughts or stabilize the storms raging inside his mind. That, more than anything, was the real reason he had come all the way to Veridan City.
It certainly wasn't because he was worried about her.
At least, that was what he told himself.
Cradling Burnt Dumpling in her arms, Rory slowly scanned their surroundings, her brows knitting together in faint dissatisfaction. The forest clearing was uneven, scarred by unstable energy residue and lingering traces of battle. It felt exposed—hardly the kind of place one would choose for something as intimate and vulnerable as a mental comfort session.
"This doesn't seem like a very suitable setting," she said finally, her tone measured but doubtful.
