The euphoria of the summit did not last. As the sun climbed higher, turning the Heart-Stone from a glowing quartz altar into a cold, hard rock, the adrenaline that had fueled Lena’s ascension evaporated. In its place came a hollow, agonizing ache that started in the marrow of her bones and radiated outward.
She was still standing, her hand locked in Killian’s, but the world was beginning to tilt. The vibrant, high-definition colors of the forest—the neon greens of the moss, the sharp violets of the shadows—suddenly became too bright, too loud, too much.
"Lena?" Killian’s voice was a low rumble, but to her ears, it sounded like a landslide.
She tried to answer, but her tongue felt like lead. Her knees buckled. Killian caught her before she hit the quartz, his massive arms wrapping around
