The walk up the staircase felt longer than it had before. The adrenaline of the evening had crashed, leaving Leela feeling exhausted and small. The iron collar around her neck felt heavier with every step, a reminder that she was dangerous enough to need a cage.
Finnegan didn't let go of her hand. He walked her to the door of her room. Inside, the room was still filled with the vines of her morning dream—the ones on the posts, the lilies on the headboard—but they looked like static now. Without her magic connection to fuel them, they were just like fresh cut flowers in a vase already beginning to wilt.
Finnegan turned to her in the doorway. He reached out, his fingers brushing her cheekbone, then tracing the line of her jaw. He leaned in and pressed a soft, reassuring kiss to her lips.
