The drain didn’t "slam" into Finn. It anchored.
It was a slow, agonizing unraveling that I felt in the marrow of my own bones. I wasn't just taking his energy; I was siphoning his history. I felt his memories leak into me like spilled ink: the smell of Sarah’s pine-scented hearth, the weight of his first training sword, the way he had looked at a girl named Lyra in the kitchens just yesterday.
My fingers didn't just touch his chest; they sank into it as if his skin had turned to wet parchment. I heard the rhythmic, wet thud of his heart stuttering, trying to fight the vacuum. Then, the sound changed. It became the dry, sickening crunch of a collapsing ribcage.
"Finn! My baby!" Sarah’s scream wasn't a sound; it was a physical blow that tore through the blizzard. She lunged forward, her h
