Kaya snapped awake with a gasp that felt like drowning in reverse.
Her hand slammed flat against the rock, trying to ground herself. The stone was warm. Wrong. She looked down and saw the mark—a faint, ugly shadow burned into the surface where her palm had been, edges still radiating heat.
Her cut bled fresh, slow and thick.
She looked left. Cutie's face was close, too close, his breathing rougher for a few seconds before evening out again. He hadn't woken, but his body was tense now, like something in his sleep was telling him to be careful.
She looked down at her other hand. Still clamped over her pocket. Fingers white from the pressure. The Sparrow inside shifted the smallest amount, then went quiet again. She could feel his tiny heartbeat racing against her palm through the cloth.
"Not passive," she whispered, voice scraped raw.
