Seraphine's POV
The first thing that reached me was scent: smoke, boiled herbs, iron-heavy blood — and the familiar, dry warmth of Darius’s coat. Pale morning light seeped through the tent canvas. Someone chopped wood outside; a horse snorted from somewhere near the stream. I tried to move my left shoulder. Pain warned me immediately to stop.
I sighed — and that’s when I realized my right hand was holding something warm.
Darius’s hand.
I tightened my fingers by instinct. His answered, steady, grounding. When I blinked fully awake, I saw him beside me: blanket around his shoulders, hair tousled, exhaustion darkening his eyes. The moment he saw I was conscious, he straightened.
“You’re here,” he said quietly.
“I am.” My voice was rough. “How long?”
“Long enough for two guard rotations
