Talia woke to warmth.
Not the warmth of sunlight.
Not the warmth of magic.
But something deeper.
Something alive.
Strong arms surrounded her carefully, holding her against a solid chest that rose and fell unevenly beneath her cheek.
A heartbeat thundered under her ear.
Fast.
Panicked.
Relieved.
“Talia?”
Nixon’s voice.
Rougher than usual.
Frayed at the edges.
She blinked slowly, her clouded eyes staring into darkness she had known all her life. The scent of pine, smoke, and rain wrapped around her immediately.
Him.
“You are loud,” she murmured weakly.
Nixon let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a broken exhale.
“You almost died.”
Talia tilted her head slightly.
“But I did not.”
“That’s not the point.”
There was anger there.
But beneath it was fear. Raw fear.
