Elias woke to sunlight.
It came through the narrow window in a pale stripe, catching on the edge of his desk, the chair, the cracked plaster near the ceiling. Ordinary. Unconcerned.
As if the night hadn't ended with him on the floor, lungs failing, Cassian's arms locked around him like a last brace against death.
As if nothing irreversible had happened.
He lay very still, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure things out the way he always did when something had gone wrong.
Breathing: steady. A little shallow, but manageable.
Heart: fast, but not panicking.
Magic: present. Quiet.
And then—there it was.
The pull.
It wasn't sharp anymore. Not screaming. It had settled somewhere deep and uncomfortable, like a bruise you only noticed when you moved. Every breath tugged faintly in the same direction. Every thought slid, inevitably, toward the same point.
Cassian.
Elias closed his eyes.
