The aftermath sat in the room like smoke.
Neither of us moved for several long breaths. The bond remained raw, oversensitive, every small shift of weight or change in breathing sending sharp, unnecessary echoes between us. My hands still carried the tremor from the surge. Darius's shoulders were locked as if against a physical blow. The warning had been clear: the connection was too frayed, too hungry, too close to a permanent tearing for anything deeper than survival contact.
We forced it back by degrees.
I closed my eyes and narrowed the channel the way the witch had once described, not sealing it, only throttling the flow until the feedback dropped from a scream to a constant low burn. Darius met me in the effort. It took longer than it should have. Sweat traced the line of his jaw b
