Before dawn, Dorian stirred. His breathing was shallow, but more regular, as if his body had learned once more how to hold on to life. Wren hadn’t slept. She had stayed with him the entire night, holding the empty vial until her hand cramped, her mind playing the moment on a loop: his body arching back, the desperate gasp, the impossible return.
When his eyelids fluttered, relief struck her like lightning. His hazy, unfocused gaze rested on her.
“Wren…?” The utterance was so faint he might’ve just been seeing shapes on his lips.
She took his hand, her throat tightening. “You’re here. You’re right here with me.”
For a moment, none of that mattered, not the shadows, not the deal she’d struck, not the faceless silhouette who’d melted into the dark. Just the brittle heat of his hand presse
