Rynna stood, limbs unsteady but eyes sharp again, the cold weave of duty settling over her like a shawl. Fedlimid lay still, so still it unstrung the moment like a frayed thread. She tilted her head, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. Not unconscious. No flickers of pain or trembling. This was sleep. Deep and involuntary, as if the violence had bled out of him and left behind only silence.
She stepped closer, warier now, her mind pacing ahead even as her feet stayed rooted. Her sensors sparked, faint green patterns on her wrist, but she ignored them. One hand reached out, light as vapor. Not contact, not yet. A pass over his frame, over the mess of limbs and sweat and breath that had once tried to break her bones. His mana had settled. But the beast… It hadn't left. It had simply curled in on itself, like a thing denied fire.
Above her head, ink floated again, quiet script painting across the air in graceful, black bloom.
