"Rhane, you can't... I mean... you shouldn't!"
Percy's voice cracked in the morning air as he trailed behind Rhane, half-dressed and frantic, but Rhane only kept buttoning his shirt as though the world hadn't nearly ended for him the night before.
The young man had been asleep, dead asleep when the rustle of fabric and the sound of running water pulled him back to consciousness. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, only to find Rhane standing by the window, freshly bathed, a towel slung over his shoulders, steam still rising faintly from his skin.
"By all the gods," Percy cursed, stumbling out of bed. "You almost died yesterday...you did die for a moment— and now you're putting on boots?"
Rhane didn't respond. He was busy fastening his cuffs, but his lips curled subtly. His reflection in the mirror looked ghostly pale, his eyes shadowed by exhaustion and fever.
