The soft scrape of boots against the floor made me tense before I even realized what it was.
“Veyra.”
The sound of his voice—rough, ragged, broken—made my heart stutter. And then he was there, at the foot of the bed, kneeling beside me, hands trembling as they reached for mine.
“I—I’m so sorry,” Varion began, each word tumbling out, desperate, urgent.
“I didn’t want—Gods, I tried everything. I tried to stop him. To stop me. I—I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I could hear the rawness in his tone, the guilt that weighed him down like chains. My own chest tightened. Orvyn, sensing perhaps that we needed a moment or couldn't stomach staying and hear or see this, stood up, gave me a sharp glance that said stay put, and then exited the room silently, closing the door behind him.
Varion’s hands
