The light was softer this time.
Not the cold, sterile glow of the infirmary's wards. Not even the morning sun filtered through enchanted glass. It was quieter than that—gentler.
Like something living had pushed its way through the cracks of this building and sat quietly beside him.
He opened his eyes slowly.
No pain. Not right now. Just the dull ache of disconnection—mana still absent, like his body had forgotten it ever held power. His limbs were heavier than they should be, skin too still.
But his mind was awake.
And someone was in the room.
He turned his head slightly, blinking against the haze.
Then stopped breathing for half a second.
She was there.
Sitting beside his bed, hands clasped tight in her lap, shoulders trembling with restraint. Long black hair fell over her shoulders, tucked behind one ear the way she always used to when she was nervous. Her coat was too thin for the morning chill. She hadn't noticed.
Her eyes—gold, just like his—were rimmed red.
