The days after Lena's awakening were fragile.
She moved through camp like a ghost, present but not present, speaking but not connecting. Her body went through the motions of living, eating when food was placed in front of her, walking from one place to another without remembering how she got there, nodding when people spoke to her without hearing their words. But inside, she was hollow, emptied by the loss of someone who had become as essential to her as breathing.
The knowledge that Caspian's essence lingered in the barrier was a comfort, a small flame in the darkness of her grief. But it was not him. Not the way she needed. Not the way she had held him at night, his cool body pressed against hers, his ancient voice whispering stories of centuries past. The barrier did not laugh at her
