I lie in bed after Killian says goodnight with a light touch on my hand and one last glance full of silence before settling into his sleeping bag.
I stare at the ceiling for a while, feeling the weight of the necklace against my skin. It’s not uncomfortable. On the contrary. It feels like it’s always been mine. Like I was born with it and it’s only now returned to where it was meant to be.
I close my eyes and rest my palm over my chest, over the ankh.
I feel its pulse. Its warmth. Its vibration.
And for a moment, I feel like I’m not alone.
It’s a strange sensation. Not frightening, but ancient. Like an old presence—or many—are watching me from the other side of some invisible border. Like there are unseen hands at my back, holding me. Guiding me.
Maybe it’s just my imagination.
Or m
