The moment Thalina's knees gave out, Eyrx caught her before her body could even tilt halfway toward the ground.
She collapsed into his arms like a wilted petal, the heat of her exhausted body soaking into his chest. Her skin was flushed, her lips parted, and sweat clung to her temples in fine beads. Her long lashes fluttered over half-lidded eyes, the glow from her earlier magic lingering faintly on her skin like the afterlight of a star.
Eyrx stared.
No, gawked.
He had never seen her like this.
Not just tired—stripped down. Not in her disguise, not hiding behind sarcasm or timidness. Just… real. Real and terrifyingly human. And yet, for reasons beyond his grasp, the sight struck him harder than any venom or blade.
In his arms, she looked so small. Delicate. But she had just fought death itself—and won.
