Amelia P.O.V.
By late afternoon, the ache in my legs had faded into something dull and manageable. Rayven still eyes me as if I might collapse with no warning, but she hasn’t glued me back onto a cot yet, which I take as silent approval.
“You can walk the grounds,” she finally says, arms crossed. “Slowly. With supervision.”
“I noticed the theme,” I mutter.
She ignores me and jerks her chin toward the door. “Kieran’s waiting.”
Of course, he is.
He stands just outside the healer's wing, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, but attention sharpened the moment I step out. He scans me the way a warrior checks the weather: calm, but prepared for lightning.
“You ready for a real walk?” he asks.
“I’m ready to not stare at the same four walls.”
His mouth lifts in that quiet half-smile I’m
