The heat pressed in, heavy and smothering, curling around me until it felt like I was being squeezed in a giant's fist. The cabin itself seemed to pulse—the walls almost breathing, the old scrolls on the table flickering as if they were about to catch. And then, in a blink, the whole world spun out from under me, and I tumbled into a darkness I didn't even know I'd been carrying.
Selvara's hands were cool on my forehead, a relief against the fever burning through me. Somewhere far off, I heard Lyra—her voice sharp, bossy, trying to cut through the haze. In the doorway, Ronan loomed, his silhouette big and dark as a thunderhead rolling in. And then all of it—voices, faces—blurred, drowned out by the thudding in my ears and a low, wordless call that felt ancient, deeper than language.
