Her hand found mine.
It didn't feel like a grab. Or a command. Just… contact. Like it had been waiting to happen for a long time and finally caught up.
The world hadn't resumed. The Rift-fed was still stuck mid-glide, its mouth parted, the violet orb half-born and trembling in its throat. Time remained bent. Silent. Still.
But she moved freely within it.
And so did I.
Her fingers drifted up my forearm, soft, cold, precise. Not clinical. Not romantic. Just careful. Intent layered without explanation. She wasn't showing me anything yet. Just reminding me she was there. That she could touch me like this. That it was allowed.
Then, slowly, she stepped behind me.
There was no shift in the snow. No breath on my neck. Only her presence. Her hand moved again. This time to my wrist, then my palm, then back toward my chest, where it rested flat. Over the heart. Over the heat.
"You've been using Hellflame," she said, "but not conjuring it."
My jaw twitched, but I said nothing.
