Amelia P.O.V
The first thing I feel is warmth.
Not the dream-forest glow. Not the silver hum of the Gate. Just… warmth.
A hand around mine. Calloused. Steady. Patient.
Real.
For a second my brain tries to panic anyway—am I in the ruins? The river? The clearing? Is the baby crying? Is the forest splitting? Is corruption—
No.
Everything is… quiet.
No pulsing shadows. No tearing air. No silver trees flickering between worlds.
Just the soft crackle of herbs in a dish, the faint clink of glass somewhere to my left, and a slow, steady breathing that isn’t mine.
I focus on that.
On him.
On the hand wrapped around my fingers like it’s a lifeline.
Shea stretches, a long, slow yawn inside my head.
We didn’t die; she murmurs. Good. I was not in the mood for that.
“Good morning to you,
