The lights were dim in the clinic's back room, just the low blue pulse of the vitals monitor casting a ghostly glow on the walls. Mia stirred, her breath catching as her awareness surfaced through yers of fog. A dull ache lived behind her eyes and deeper still in her chest, a throbbing reminder of the ordeal she had endured.

  "Hey there," Elian's voice greeted her softly, his tone ced with concern and unmistakable relief.

  She blinked several times until his face came into focus—gentle, warm, cautious. He sat beside the bed, perched on a stool pulled in too close, as if afraid to lose a moment of her waking. He had his sleeves pushed up past his elbows, revealing forearms marked with faint scars from years of medical work, and her bnket was pulled up just below her chin, a testament to his attentive care. The fabric had a faint scent of antiseptic and something herbal. He hadn't stopped watching over her, his gaze never wavering, eyes ringed with the shadows of exhaustion.

  She tried to speak, but only a raspy breath escaped her parched lips, her tongue feeling like sandpaper against the roof of her mouth.

  Elian quickly offered her a gss of water and helped her sip, his touch gentle and reassuring as he cradled the back of her head with practiced ease. "You had us worried," he said quietly, the weight of his words betraying the depth of his concern. "But you're okay now." The slight tremor in his fingers told a different story—one of fear not yet fully dispelled.

  Mia's throat worked, her voice a mere whisper that scratched its way out. "Asrell?"

  Elian smiled, but the creases around his eyes revealed a lingering unease that he couldn't quite mask. "Sleeping, I think. He caught... a cold. That's what I'm calling it." He attempted a lighthearted tone, but the gravity of the situation was evident in the tightness around his mouth, the careful way he chose his words.

  She blinked at him, her mind struggling to process the information, thoughts moving like mosses through her consciousness.

  "He told me what happened," Elian added, his voice turning somber as he leaned closer. "The water pipe that burst underground, the old rot. It hit him hard. It poisoned him. That's why he couldn't help you in time. He was too sick to absorb the fear. I think he wanted me to tell you that." His fingers fidgeted with the edge of her bnket as he spoke, a rare dispy of nervousness from the usually composed doctor.

  Mia gave a slow nod, her body too heavy to move, weighed down by the burden of understanding and the physical aftermath of trauma. Every muscle felt leaden, unwilling to respond to her commands.

  He reached out and gently brushed damp strands of hair from her forehead, his touch tender and comforting, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. "You're safe now," he said, his words a promise etched with conviction. Then, softer, his voice dropped to a murmur, intimate in the quiet room, "I did a full scan, Mia."

  She closed her eyes, just a beat too long, a flicker of emotion passing across her features—resignation, fear, and something like relief all mingled together in the slight furrow of her brow.

  "I know," he said, his tone grave, weighted with newfound knowledge. "I know what you've been hiding. I see what it's doing to you. The damage is real. And I swear to you—I'll look into everything. I'll find a way to fix this. I'll save you." The determination in his voice was palpable, a physical force in the small room.

  Her eyes opened again, filled with a complex mix of emotions—grief, perhaps, but also a glimmer of hope, no matter how faint, like a distant star in the darkness. Slowly, she raised a hand and cupped his cheek, the skin warm beneath her fingers, a simple gesture that conveyed a world of gratitude and trust. The slight stubble on his jawline rasped against her palm.

  "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible, yet carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words, years of solitary suffering compressed into two sylbles.

  But she didn't say what echoed in her bones: There is no save. Not one that doesn't take him with me. The thought lingered, unvoiced but ever-present, a shadow that darkened her heart and settled like a stone in her chest.

  A flicker stirred under her skin, a subtle reminder of the bond she shared, like electricity dancing beneath the surface.

  "You're both very loud," came a slurred voice in her head, the words tinged with exhaustion and a hint of petunce.

  She blinked, her attention shifting inward, away from the physical world. "Asrell?"

  His voice was slow and fuzzy, the mental connection strained like a bad transmission. "I feel like I was stepped on by one of your rusting mining machines, then dragged through a waste disposal unit."

  She gave a soft, weary ugh, the sound a fragile thing amidst the heaviness that surrounded them, slightly painful against her dry throat. "You're okay."

  "No. I'm tired. I've never been tired before. This is awful. I hate this. It's undignified." His words carried a petunt edge, but there was an undercurrent of vulnerability that tugged at her heart, a fear he couldn't quite disguise.

  "Elian says you caught a cold," she teased gently, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles, a ghost of her usual expression.

  "Tell him that I am a Vassreln. I don't get ill. We transcend such mundane physical limitations." Despite the flippant remark, there was a hint of affection in his tone, a warmth that belied his haughty words.

  She reyed that aloud, her voice a little stronger now. Elian chuckled quietly, the sound a balm for their weary souls, his shoulders rexing fractionally.

  "I'm sorry I couldn't stop it," Asrell said in her head, his voice now calmer, tinged with regret that resonated through their connection. "I failed."

  "You didn't. It was just shitty timing," she countered, her words carrying a reassuring firmness despite her physical weakness.

  "I couldn't protect you." His voice trembled with a rare vulnerability, the weight of his perceived failure bearing down upon him, a prince unaccustomed to helplessness.

  "You were sick," she said, her voice a whisper now, understanding and absolution in her tone. "You're allowed to be sick. I didn't die, did I?" She tried to inject a lightness she didn't fully feel, for his sake.

  There was a pause, a silence heavy with unspoken emotions, the mental equivalent of a deep, shuddering breath. Then:

  "I hate that I couldn't stop the fear." His words were ced with a deep anguish, a pain that transcended the physical realm, vibrating through their bond like a struck chord.

  "You always do enough," she whispered, not sure if he'd believe her, but meaning it anyway." She murmured, her lips barely moving, her conviction unwavering despite everything. "You're doing fine." Her fingers curled into the bnket, anchoring herself to the present.

  There was a long silence, a moment suspended in time, the steady beep of the monitor marking seconds that stretched like hours, and then Asrell said gently, his voice a caress in her mind, "I like the doctor. He has... kind hands. And he didn't panic when I spoke to him."

  "Yeah," she whispered, her eyes drifting closed, a small smile pying on her lips, genuine despite the exhaustion. "Me too."

  Elian, sensing the lull, leaned forward again. His gaze stayed on her face, even as her eyes drifted closed, a silent vigil over her fragile form. The light caught the silver flecks in his irises, determination hardening them to steel.

  "I won't stop trying, Mia," he whispered, his voice a vow that resonated in the stillness of the room. "Not until you're whole again." His hand found hers atop the bnket, fingers intertwining with a gentle pressure that promised presence, even in sleep.

  Elian's gaze lingered on her face, watching as her features softened in sleep. The steady beep of the monitor filled the space between them—rhythmic, steady, alive.

  He didn't move. He just sat with her hand in his and waited.

  The front door creaked open—quietly, but not quietly enough for Elian's ears. He turned his head and saw Dane lingering in the doorway, his imposing frame silhouetted against the dim light from outside.

  Elian's eyes flicked immediately to the bed, a protective instinct rising within him. He reached up and touched Mia's wrist as if to say, she's okay, but Dane's gaze was stuck on her face, his expression unreadable.

  "She's asleep," Elian said softly, his voice a gentle reassurance. "Just resting."

  Elian gave a small shrug, "Asrell is recovering from being poisoned, which makes her tired too."

  Dane nodded, his movements slow and deliberate. He stepped forward, his boots scuffing the floor, the sound a jarring contrast to the hushed atmosphere. He didn't speak, but the weight of his presence was palpable.

  Elian looked up and caught the expression—one of those rare, unguarded moments where Dane's walls had cracked wide open, revealing a depth of emotion that few were privy to.

  Dane's gaze didn't waver. Not even when Elian moved. Not even when Mia shifted slightly in her sleep. His entire focus was on her—not like a soldier watching a comrade, or a man assessing a threat.

  It was something else. Something quieter. Something that ached to reach for her but didn't dare.

  And it hit him, like a sudden revetion: Dane was falling in love with her. Had been for a while, perhaps. He wasn't sure when, but Dane was attracted to strength, and Mia, even in a physically weakened state, was pure steel. She got under his skin, challenged him, and stood her ground when he barked orders, refusing to be cowed. Dane didn't fall easily, his heart fortified by years of hardship and loss. But Elian knew that look that his man wore, while he was looking at Mia. He's seen it himself every day.

  Elian felt something tug inside his own chest, a familiar ache that resonated with the depth of Dane's unspoken emotions.

  "You okay?" Elian asked, his voice a gentle probe into the other man's state of mind.

  Dane's voice was low, a rumble that betrayed little. "Yeah."

  He moved beside Elian, his steps measured, but his eyes never left Mia, as if drawn by an invisible tether. The sheriff's posture was rigid, fighting against something Elian recognized all too well—the pull of someone who challenged everything you thought you knew.

  "She's not what I thought," he said, his words carrying a weight of realization. "None of this is." His voice dropped lower, almost confessional in the space between them.

  "I know," Elian replied, a simple acknowledgment that spoke volumes. He'd seen it happening for days now—Dane's resistance crumbling against Mia's stubborn resilience.

  Elian stood up, pced a hand gently on Dane's shoulder, a gesture of understanding and camaraderie. The warmth of his palm against the worn fabric of Dane's shirt—a touchstone they'd established years ago in the aftermath of battle. A reminder: I'm here. I see you.

  Elian felt the ache ease, just slightly, as he watched Dane's expression soften. The permanent furrow between his brows smoothing out, if only for a heartbeat.

  This wasn't jealousy. It never would be. They didn't break like that. Not after everything they'd already survived together. Not after the nights spent talking each other down from nightmares, or the silent mornings patching each other's wounds, both seen and unseen.

  Dane wasn't pulling away—he was stepping toward something. And if it was toward her?

  Elian could live with that. Hell... he needed it.

  Because if Mia was going to stay, Elian couldn't do it alone. But maybe the three of them— Just maybe. The thought settled like a warm coal in his chest, not yet a fme, but a promise of one.

  "I didn't mean to—" Dane started, then stopped, his words trailing off into silence, a rare moment of vulnerability. His calloused fingers flexed at his sides, searching for something to hold onto.

  "I did," Elian said, his voice carrying a hint of knowing. "You always liked fire." A reminder of their shared history, of what they both understood about each other.

  "She's not just fire," Dane countered, his tone reverent, tinged with awe. The admission cost him something—Elian could see it in the tightness around his eyes.

  "No," Elian agreed, a small smile pying on his lips. "She's gravity."