Darius's POV
By the time the second guard shift passed, I was half-dozing in the chair by the tent entrance, coat over my shoulders, sword within easy reach. The coals in the hearth glowed a faint red. A cold gust pressed against the canvas now and then, and the night sounded muted — too muted — so when I first heard the faint scratching from the bedroll and then an abrupt, irregular thud, I was on my feet in one motion.
A cup tipped over with a metallic clatter.
Seraphine wasn’t just tossing. She was fighting something I couldn’t see — jerking, gasping, kicking the blanket away, her arms flailing as though battling off invisible hands. A low, strangled sound forced itself up her throat, the kind that chills your spine: not a scream, but the suffocating noise of someone drowning inside
