Kael's breath came ragged at first, his chest rising and falling as though he had surfaced from deep waters. The cold sweat clung to his skin, the echo of that nightmare—the Harbinger's laughter—still clanged like iron in his skull. He bolted upright.
His first instinct was panic. His hand flew to his side—where the burn should have been. Where the molten agony had branded him just before he blacked out.
But…
There was nothing.
No pain. No scar. No trace.
The skin beneath his palm was smooth—undisturbed. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowing in confusion. Had it been a dream? A hallucination?
"Lyria," he croaked, voice dry and uncertain.
In an instant, her arms wrapped around him.
"Kael!" Her voice cracked as she buried her face against his chest. She trembled, and he could feel the heat of her tears against his skin.
Her embrace wasn't just relief—it was desperate. Possessive.
