The vision was gone.
But Elira could still feel it.
The fire.
The blood.
The gate.
The woman.
The First Heir.
The memory lingered behind her eyes like sunlight after staring at the sky too long.
Unsteady.
Blurry.
Real.
Too real.
Nikolai's hands remained on her shoulders.
Steadying her.
Grounding her.
The realization came slowly.
She was shaking.
Gods.
She was actually shaking.
The camp around her seemed distant.
Muted.
As though she were underwater.
Voices blurred together.
Questions.
Commands.
Concern.
None of it mattered.
Three words echoed through her mind.
Do not trust Varyn.
Not a warning.
A command.
A desperate command.
The difference mattered.
"Elira."
Nikolai's voice.
Close.
Concerned.
Real.
Her gaze lifted.
Storm-gray eyes met hers.
The sigh
