The morning after Fia dreamed about coming home, she could not lift her head from the pillow.
At first, she thought she was simply tired.
That was allowed.
Mira had said so.
Recovery required sleep. Recovery required patience. Recovery was not weakness.
All the phrases they had spent weeks forcing into Fia's stubborn skull floated lazily through her mind as morning sunlight crawled over the curtains.
So she stayed still.
For once, she did not fight her body.
She listened instead.
Seraphine was already awake.
Fia could hear the faint rustle of paper from the sitting area.
Of course.
The queen had apparently interpreted "day of relaxation" as a temporary ceasefire with paperwork rather than surrender.
Somewhere closer, Lyriel was breathing evenly.
Elira was snoring.
Quietly.
Which she would absolutely deny later.
And Mira—
Mira was beside her.
Fia could feel the healer's fingers loosely wrapped around her wrist.
She smiled.
Barely.
Yesterday had been good.
Not "good considering the war."
Not "good considering her health."
Good.
They had eaten breakfast outside.
Thrown grapes at each other.
Played cards.
Talked about the future.
Fia had told them about the house.
The mountains.
The garden.
The library.
The clinic.
The training yard.
The kitchen.
Bedrooms.
She had even dreamed of it afterward.
For the first time since arriving in this world, she'd let herself imagine something beyond surviving the next catastrophe.
Maybe that was why opening her eyes felt so difficult.
She wanted five more minutes inside that future.
She breathed in.
Her chest felt strange.
Not painful.
Heavy.
As though someone had replaced the air inside her lungs with wet cloth.
Fia frowned.
She tried another breath.
Shallow.
That was odd.
She opened her eyes.
The ceiling blurred.
She blinked.
Nothing changed.
"Mira?"
The name barely came out.
Mira moved instantly.
She had not been asleep.
Fia realized that immediately.
Storm-gray eyes were already fixed on her.
Too alert.
Too worried.
"Good morning," Mira said.
Her voice was gentle.
Too gentle.
Fia knew that voice.
She hated that voice.
"How long have you been awake?"
"Not long."
Lie.
Fia tried to raise herself.
Mira's hand moved to her shoulder.
"Don't."
That one word woke Seraphine.
The papers stopped rustling.
Elira stopped snoring.
Lyriel's eyes opened.
Fia stared at Mira.
"Mira."
"Stay flat."
"I'm fine."
Mira's expression broke.
Only for a fraction of a second.
But Fia saw it.
And suddenly she was afraid.
"Mira?"
Seraphine appeared at the bedside.
"What happened?"
Mira did not answer immediately.
Her fingers returned to Fia's wrist.
Counting.
Her other hand rested over Fia's sternum.
Waiting.
Feeling.
Fia knew what she was checking.
The two rhythms.
Human.
Dragon.
Mira's jaw tightened.
"Fia, take a slow breath."
Fia obeyed.
Or tried to.
Halfway in, her lungs seemed to simply stop cooperating.
Her breath caught.
She coughed.
Once.
Dry.
Again.
Something warm touched her lips.
Mira already had a cloth there.
Fia stared at the red blooming across white fabric.
Nobody spoke.
Elira was standing now.
She had gone completely still.
Lyriel sat upright, glasses forgotten on the bedside table.
Seraphine's face emptied of expression.
Fia looked at the blood.
Then at Mira.
"But yesterday..."
Her voice cracked.
Mira closed her eyes.
That frightened Fia more than anything.
"Mira."
"I'm here."
"I was better yesterday."
"I know."
"I walked."
"I know."
"I ate."
"I know."
"I laughed."
Mira swallowed.
"I know."
The blood looked impossibly bright.
Fia whispered:
"What happened?"
Mira did not answer.
And in that silence, Fia understood.
Not everything.
Enough.
Yesterday had not been proof that she was getting better.
It had been a good day.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
And good days could lie.
---
By breakfast time, nobody had eaten.
The tray sat untouched near the window.
Tea cooled in porcelain cups.
Bread remained under its cloth.
Fia had been moved into a partially upright position because breathing flat had become uncomfortable.
That alone terrified Mira.
Fia could tell.
The healer hid fear professionally.
She did not hide it well from Fia anymore.
Mira had examined her three times.
Then Lyriel had examined the dragon bond.
Then Mira had done it again.
Each time, they spoke less.
That was worse.
Fia sat against pillows, pale even by her own standards, wrapped in blankets despite feeling strangely warm.
Seraphine sat beside her.
One hand had remained around Fia's fingers for almost an hour.
Elira stood near the window.
Not moving.
Not joking.
That might have been the most frightening thing in the room.
Lyriel was at the table.
Six pages of calculations surrounded her.
She had written so hard on one of them that the quill tore through the paper.
Fia watched them.
Eventually, she had enough.
"Someone talk."
Nothing.
Fia's voice sharpened.
"Stop doing that."
Seraphine looked at her.
"Doing what?"
"Looking at each other before anyone answers me."
Mira looked down.
That confirmed everything.
Fia's stomach turned.
"Tell me."
Mira stood.
Walked over.
Sat on the edge of the bed.
For once, she did not reach for Fia's pulse.
She simply took her hand.
"The three days of pain weakened you more than we realized."
Fia waited.
Mira continued carefully.
"Your numbers improved afterward. Your breathing stabilized. Your pain fell. Your appetite returned."
"That sounds good."
"It was."
Was.
Fia noticed the tense.
"But?"
Mira's fingers tightened.
"But your underlying illness didn't reverse."
There it was.
Small.
Quiet.
Cruel.
Fia stared at her.
"So yesterday..."
"Was real."
Mira said it immediately.
Firmly.
"Do not take yesterday away from yourself."
Fia's throat tightened.
"But I wasn't recovering."
"You were recovering from the acute episode."
Lyriel spoke from the table.
Her voice was unusually soft.
"That isn't the same as recovering from the illness."
Fia looked at her.
Lyriel's eyes were red.
She hadn't cried.
Maybe she hadn't slept.
Both possibilities hurt.
Fia asked:
"How bad?"
Mira inhaled.
The healer who could explain battlefield wounds while standing ankle-deep in blood suddenly struggled to speak.
"Mira."
"Your human heart is weaker."
Seraphine's fingers went rigid around Fia's.
Fia looked toward Mira's hand resting over her chest.
"And the other one?"
"The dragon architecture is compensating."
Ardentis had been silent all morning.
Too silent.
Fia turned inward.
"Ardentis?"
Nothing.
Then, finally:
*I am here.*
His voice sounded distant.
Fia closed her eyes.
"You're tired."
A pause.
*Yes.*
That answer hurt.
Elder Dragon Ardentis did not admit weakness.
Not easily.
Not ever.
Fia opened her eyes.
"He's tired too."
Lyriel looked down.
Mira nodded.
"The dragon heart has been carrying more of the load."
Fia stared at the blankets.
"How much more?"
Nobody answered.
She looked at Mira.
"How much?"
Mira whispered:
"Too much."
Silence swallowed the room.
Outside, somewhere beyond the windows, the palace continued.
Servants crossed corridors.
Guards changed shifts.
People lived.
The world remained offensively normal.
Fia looked toward the breakfast tray.
Yesterday she had stolen pastries from Elira.
Today she could barely breathe without concentrating.
The difference was one night.
One night.
Her chest tightened.
Not physically.
Something worse.
"The house."
Seraphine turned toward her.
"What?"
Fia stared straight ahead.
"The house I talked about."
Elira's face changed.
"Fia."
"I shouldn't have done that."
Seraphine's grip tightened.
"Done what?"
"Planned."
The word came out broken.
Mira shook her head immediately.
"No."
Fia laughed once.
A terrible little sound.
"I knew better."
"Fia."
"I knew."
Her eyes burned.
"I've known since I woke up in this body."
Seraphine moved closer.
Fia pulled her hand away.
Not because she did not want her.
Because suddenly being touched made everything too real.
"I was dying before any of this started."
Nobody spoke.
"I knew that."
Fia pressed one shaking hand against her chest.
"I knew there might not be an after."
Her voice began trembling.
"And yesterday I sat there like an idiot talking about kitchens and gardens and bedrooms and—"
Her breath broke.
Mira reached for her.
Fia flinched away.
"Don't."
Mira froze.
Fia saw the hurt immediately.
She hated herself for it.
But she couldn't stop.
"I let myself want it."
Tears finally spilled.
That was what had changed.
Not her illness.
Not the war.
Not the Black Chapel.
Her.
Months ago, death had been frightening because it meant failure.
She would fail to protect them.
Fail to save the kingdom.
Fail to understand the broken story.
Then slowly, horribly, beautifully, they had taught her another reason to fear dying.
Because she wanted to live.
Not heroically.
Not importantly.
She wanted to wake up beside Elira's stupid heavy arm.
She wanted Mira ordering her to eat.
She wanted Lyriel hiding books under blankets.
She wanted Seraphine abusing royal authority to steal breakfast.
She wanted arguments.
Bad cooking.
Curtains.
A little training yard.
A mountain house.
She wanted ordinary things.
And now ordinary things felt farther away than armies.
"I shouldn't have imagined it."
Seraphine's face crumpled.
The queen crossed the distance before Fia could protest.
She gathered Fia carefully against her.
Fia resisted for perhaps two seconds.
Then everything broke.
She buried her face against Seraphine's shoulder.
"I don't want to die."
The words came out muffled.
Small.
Nothing like the Flame Calamity.
Nothing like a dragon-touched mage.
Nothing like a woman who had stood against armies.
Just Fia.
"I don't want to die."
Seraphine held her tighter.
"I know."
"I don't want yesterday to be all I get."
Seraphine's eyes closed.
"It won't be."
"You don't know that."
The queen went still.
Fia pulled back enough to look at her.
Tears streaked her face.
"You don't know."
Seraphine opened her mouth.
Stopped.
Because Fia was right.
For once, a royal decree could not solve anything.
Seraphine could command armies.
Rewrite laws.
Break treaties.
Execute traitors.
Restructure a kingdom.
But she could not order Fia's body to remain alive.
And Fia saw the moment Seraphine accepted that.
It devastated them both.
Seraphine's own tears came silently.
"I don't know," she whispered.
Fia stared at her.
Seraphine cupped her face.
"I don't know."
Her voice broke.
"But I know what I want."
Fia's lips trembled.
"What?"
"You."
Simple.
Seraphine pressed her forehead against Fia's.
"Tomorrow."
A kiss against her temple.
"The day after."
Her cheek.
"Next winter."
Her trembling fingers against Fia's jaw.
"Ten years from now when you're complaining because Elira built the training yard twice the size you allowed."
From the window came a broken laugh.
Elira turned away quickly.
Seraphine kept going.
"I want you angry because Lyriel filled half the house with books."
Lyriel's eyes closed.
"I want Mira yelling at all of us because somebody tracked mud through her kitchen."
"Her kitchen?" Mira whispered tearfully.
Seraphine laughed through tears.
"She'll claim it eventually."
Fia made a tiny choking sound between a laugh and a sob.
Seraphine looked directly into her eyes.
"I don't know if I get those things."
Her voice hardened.
"But don't you dare mourn them before they're gone."
Fia cried harder.
Seraphine pulled her close again.
This time Fia held on.
---
Elira lasted eleven minutes.
Then she left the room.
Not dramatically.
That made it worse.
She simply stood and said:
"I need air."
The door closed behind her.
Fia looked toward it.
Mira quietly said:
"Let her."
---
Elira made it halfway down the corridor before punching the wall.
Once.
Stone cracked beneath her knuckles.
Pain exploded up her hand.
She hit it again.
"Captain."
She ignored the guard.
Again.
"Captain Elira."
Again.
By the fourth strike, blood coated her knuckles.
A hand caught her wrist.
Not a soldier.
Mira.
Elira didn't turn around.
"Let go."
"No."
"Mira."
"No."
Elira's shoulders shook.
"Let me hit something."
"You've hit enough."
"No."
Her voice cracked.
"I haven't."
Mira's expression softened.
Elira yanked her wrist once.
Not seriously.
She could have broken Mira's grip easily.
She didn't.
"What am I supposed to do?"
Mira said nothing.
That was the wrong answer.
Elira turned on her.
"What am I supposed to fucking do?"
The guards looked away.
Mira remained still.
Elira gestured toward the room.
"There's no enemy."
Her eyes were wet now.
"No commander. No assassin. No fucking monster."
Her voice rose.
"If there was, I'd kill it."
Mira swallowed.
"If it was an army, I'd fight it."
"I know."
"If it was the Black Chapel, I'd tear the damn thing apart brick by brick."
"I know."
"But it's inside her."
That destroyed whatever remained of Elira's control.
She sank against the wall.
Mira caught her.
Elira covered her face with bloody hands.
"I can't fight inside her."
Mira crouched with her.
"No."
"I can't stand between them."
"No."
Elira sobbed.
Not gracefully.
Not quietly.
"I promised."
Mira pulled her into her arms.
"You promised to stay."
Elira shook her head.
"I promised I'd protect her."
"Then stay."
"That isn't enough."
Mira's own tears fell.
"It's what we have."
Elira looked at her.
Mira's expression was wrecked.
Only then did Elira realize the healer was barely holding together herself.
"You knew."
Mira looked away.
Elira went still.
"Mira."
"I suspected."
"Since when?"
"Yesterday evening."
The words came reluctantly.
"Her pulse changed after sunset."
Elira stared.
"And you didn't say anything?"
"I didn't know."
"You knew enough to worry."
"Yes."
"Mira—"
"I wanted one night."
Elira stopped.
Mira's voice broke.
"I wanted her to have one night where everyone wasn't staring at her like she might disappear."
Elira's anger vanished.
Mira wiped at her face.
"She had such a good day."
A sob slipped out.
"She ate. She laughed. She fell asleep outside because she was tired instead of unconscious."
Elira closed her eyes.
"And I thought..."
Mira could barely say it.
"I thought maybe I was wrong."
Elira reached for her.
This time they held each other.
Two women sitting on a palace corridor floor.
One with bleeding knuckles.
One with a healer's hands that could not heal the person she loved most.
Neither pretending anymore.
---
Lyriel did what Lyriel always did when she was frightened.
She researched.
By midday, the sickroom table had disappeared beneath paper.
Mana diagrams.
Heart rhythms.
Draconic anatomy.
Old healing treatises.
System residue measurements.
Theoretical conversion structures.
Everything.
Fia watched from bed.
Lyriel had not moved in hours.
"Lyriel."
No response.
"Lyriel."
The quill continued scratching.
Fia tried louder.
"Lyriel."
The quill snapped.
Lyriel stared at the broken feather in her hand.
Then quietly reached for another.
"Stop."
"I am working."
"I know."
"The dragon architecture has several underexplored support functions."
"Lyriel."
"If I can determine whether the secondary circulation can be redistributed—"
"Stop."
Lyriel finally looked at her.
Fia almost wished she hadn't.
Her eyes were hollow.
"I can't."
"You have to."
"No."
"Come here."
"I need to—"
"Please."
That word did it.
Lyriel stood.
Slowly.
She walked to the bed.
Fia held out her hand.
Lyriel stared at it.
Then took it.
Fia pulled gently.
Lyriel sat.
For several moments, neither spoke.
Then Fia said:
"I'm scared."
Lyriel stared at their joined hands.
"So am I."
Fia waited.
Lyriel's composure cracked.
"I don't understand it."
Her voice came painfully quiet.
"I have studied you more than I've studied anything in my life."
Fia almost made a joke.
Couldn't.
Lyriel continued.
"I know how your mana changes when you sleep."
Her thumb rubbed over Fia's knuckles.
"I know the exact temperature difference between normal dragon manifestation and destabilization."
Her breathing became uneven.
"I know how many seconds your aura changes before you faint."
Fia squeezed her hand.
"And somehow I still didn't see this."
"This isn't your fault."
"That sentence is useless."
"Still true."
"I should have seen it."
Fia looked at her.
"You aren't supposed to solve me."
Lyriel's face twisted.
"I want to."
There.
That was Lyriel's grief.
Not control.
Love.
"I want there to be an answer."
Her tears finally fell.
"I want you to be an equation because equations don't wake up one morning and decide they're dying faster."
Fia's chest hurt.
Lyriel bent forward.
Fia opened her arms.
Lyriel folded into them carefully.
She pressed her face against Fia's shoulder.
"I'm sorry."
Fia kissed her hair.
"For what?"
"For every time I looked at you and thought if I learned enough, I'd stop being afraid."
Fia closed her eyes.
"Did it work?"
"No."
A tiny laugh escaped Fia.
"Me neither."
Lyriel held her tighter.
For once, no notebook appeared.
No theory.
No solution.
They simply stayed together.
---
By evening, Fia was worse.
Not catastrophically.
That somehow made it sadder.
There was no dramatic collapse.
No explosion of magic.
No black sky.
Just attrition.
She became too tired to sit upright without support.
Then too tired to finish dinner.
Then too breathless to talk for more than a sentence at a time.
Mira watched each small loss with unbearable attention.
Half the soup.
Three steps to the washroom before needing Elira's arm.
A tremor when lifting a cup.
Fia trying to hide it.
Mira pretending she didn't notice the attempt.
There was no dignity in serious illness.
Fia had learned that.
But her lovers worked very hard to give her some anyway.
Elira carried her only after asking.
Mira explained everything before touching her.
Lyriel stopped writing measurements where Fia could see them.
Seraphine dismissed every servant except those Fia personally knew.
Nobody discussed Greyfen.
Nobody discussed Valgard.
Nobody mentioned the Black Chapel.
For one night, the war could rot outside.
Fia had become the only battlefield that mattered.
---
It was nearly midnight when the worst conversation happened.
Fia had finally fallen asleep.
Her breathing was shallow but regular.
Mira sat beside her.
Seraphine stood at the window.
Elira leaned against the wall.
Lyriel sat on the floor beside the bed, her head resting against the mattress.
Nobody wanted to leave.
Mira looked at them.
"We need to talk."
Seraphine turned.
"How bad?"
Mira's eyes went immediately to Fia.
"As long as she is stable, the dragon heart can compensate."
Elira frowned.
"That wasn't the question."
Mira closed her eyes.
"No."
It wasn't.
Seraphine's voice was barely audible.
"How bad?"
Mira took a long breath.
"I don't know."
Elira's jaw clenched.
Lyriel stared at the floor.
Mira continued.
"But..."
There was always a but.
"...the illness is progressing faster than it was before the awakening."
Lyriel's head lifted.
"Because of Ardentis?"
"I don't think he's causing it."
"Then why?"
"Her body has been through too much."
Mira started counting softly.
"The original disease. Repeated mana exhaustion. The pain-filter failure. The army engagements. The dragon awakening. The altar corruption. The Black Chapel resonance."
Each item sounded like an accusation.
Not against Fia.
Against the world.
Mira whispered:
"She keeps surviving things that should require months of recovery."
Seraphine looked toward Fia.
"And we keep giving her days."
Nobody had an answer.
Mira wiped her eyes.
"Her body never catches up."
Elira's voice was hoarse.
"Can you fix it?"
Mira stared at her.
Elira immediately looked away.
"I'm sorry."
"No."
Mira shook her head.
"You get to ask."
She looked at Fia.
"I don't know."
Seraphine walked closer.
"Could she have years?"
Mira's face broke.
"I don't know."
"Months?"
"I don't know."
"Weeks?"
Mira flinched.
Elira whispered:
"Don't."
Seraphine's lips trembled.
"I need to know."
"There isn't a number."
Mira's voice sharpened.
"Bodies are not clocks."
The queen's composure finally shattered.
"I need something!"
Fia stirred.
Everyone froze.
Seraphine covered her mouth.
Fia did not wake.
Mira lowered her voice.
"There is no number."
Seraphine's shoulders shook.
Mira continued more gently.
"She could stabilize."
Seraphine looked at her.
"The dragon support could reach equilibrium. We could find another treatment. Lyriel could discover something. The illness could plateau again."
"Could."
"Yes."
"And if it doesn't?"
Mira couldn't answer.
That was the answer.
Seraphine turned away.
Elira sat down heavily.
Lyriel's eyes closed.
Four women surrounded the sleeping woman they loved.
Queens.
Healers.
Warriors.
Mages.
None of those titles meant anything here.
They were simply four people terrified of waking up one morning and finding the center of their little impossible family gone.
---
Fia had been awake for most of it.
She hadn't meant to listen.
At first she had been too tired to open her eyes.
Then Seraphine had asked:
"Could she have years?"
And Fia had forgotten how.
Years.
Months.
Weeks.
No number.
She kept her breathing even.
Waited.
Listened as people who thought she was sleeping tried to imagine the world without her.
She wished she hadn't.
Eventually the room quieted.
Elira curled in the chair.
Lyriel stayed beside the bed.
Mira leaned against the headboard.
Seraphine returned to Fia's side.
One by one, exhaustion claimed them.
Fia opened her eyes.
Moonlight filled the room.
She looked at them.
Her people.
Her future wives.
Maybe.
That word suddenly attached itself to everything.
Future.
Maybe.
Marriage.
Maybe.
House.
Maybe.
Winter.
Maybe.
Tomorrow.
Maybe.
Fia's eyes filled.
She turned her face toward the window so nobody would wake and see.
"Ardentis?"
The dragon answered slowly.
*Little flame.*
Fia's throat tightened.
"Am I dying?"
A long silence.
She almost wished he would lie.
*You have always been dying.*
A tear slipped into her hair.
"That's a terrible answer."
*It is an honest one.*
"How long?"
*I do not know.*
Of course.
Fia laughed silently.
Even an elder dragon could not give her a number.
"I finally want to stay."
Ardentis became very quiet.
Fia stared at Seraphine's sleeping face.
At Mira's hand resting near hers.
At Elira curled uncomfortably in the chair because she refused to leave.
At Lyriel asleep against the mattress.
"I didn't before."
She swallowed.
"I thought I did."
Her voice became tiny.
"But I wanted to survive because there were things I needed to do."
Another tear.
"Now I want to survive because there are things I want to have."
Ardentis's presence curled around her like distant warmth.
*Then want them.*
Fia closed her eyes.
"What if wanting them hurts?"
*It already does.*
Fia almost smiled.
Ancient bastard.
"What if I don't get them?"
Ardentis was silent for so long she wondered if he had gone.
Then:
*Mortals make a strange error.*
"What?"
*You believe a future must be guaranteed before you are permitted to love it.*
Fia opened her eyes.
The dragon continued.
*No future has ever been guaranteed.*
Fia looked at the sleeping women again.
*Want your house.*
A faint warmth spread beneath her failing heart.
*Want your garden.*
Another beat.
*Want your ridiculous warrior's oversized training yard.*
Fia's lips trembled.
*Want the healer's kitchen.*
A tearful little laugh.
*Want the scholar's library.*
Then softer:
*Want your queen's arguments.*
Fia covered her mouth.
Ardentis's voice became a low rumble around her soul.
*Want tomorrow with every fragment of yourself.*
Fia whispered:
"And if tomorrow doesn't come?"
The dragon answered:
*Then today will know it was loved.*
Fia cried silently.
Not from pain.
Not entirely.
Eventually, Seraphine stirred.
Her eyes opened.
She saw Fia awake.
Saw the tears.
For one terrible second, neither pretended.
Seraphine moved closer.
"How much did you hear?"
Fia's lips shook.
"Enough."
Seraphine closed her eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"No."
Fia reached for her.
Weakly.
Seraphine took her hand.
Fia whispered:
"Promise me something."
"Anything."
"Don't stop planning."
Seraphine's face tightened.
Fia squeezed as hard as she could.
It wasn't very hard.
"The house."
A tear rolled down Seraphine's cheek.
"The garden."
Seraphine nodded.
"Lyriel's library."
Another nod.
"Mira's kitchen."
From the headboard, Mira's voice cracked:
"I knew it would become my kitchen."
Fia startled.
Mira was awake.
Elira lifted her head from the chair.
"So am I."
Lyriel opened her eyes beside the mattress.
"No one in this room is good at pretending to sleep."
Fia stared at them.
Then laughed.
Weak.
Breathless.
Wet with tears.
Elira came closer.
"Small training yard?"
Fia looked at her.
"Small."
"Medium."
"Small."
"Negotiable."
Fia smiled.
Lyriel rose and sat carefully on the edge of the bed.
"I would like south-facing windows in the library."
Fia started crying again.
"Fine."
Mira took her hand.
"And the clinic?"
"Nearby."
"Very nearby."
"Fine."
Seraphine leaned down.
"And my office?"
Fia looked at her.
"Small."
The queen smiled through tears.
"Absolutely not."
Fia laughed.
It hurt.
It made her cough.
Mira immediately steadied her.
The cough passed.
Fia rested back against the pillows, exhausted.
Four hands remained somewhere against her.
Her wrist.
Her shoulder.
Her hair.
Her fingers.
Holding without trapping.
Loving without pretending love could guarantee anything.
Fia closed her eyes.
"Keep planning," she whispered.
Seraphine kissed her forehead.
"We will."
"Even if..."
Seraphine stopped her.
"No."
Not denial.
Not this time.
A boundary.
"We plan because you're here."
Mira kissed her hand.
"Today."
Elira touched her forehead to Fia's shoulder.
"Tomorrow."
Lyriel rested against her side.
"And whatever comes after."
Fia breathed.
It was harder than yesterday.
Her body was weaker.
Her future uncertain.
Somewhere inside her, one human heart struggled.
A dragon heart answered.
Beat.
Beat.
Uneven.
Stubborn.
Alive.
Fia drifted toward sleep surrounded by the women who loved her.
And before unconsciousness took her, she saw the mountain house again.
Not as prophecy.
Not as promise.
Not as something guaranteed.
Just something waiting in the distance.
A possibility.
For the first time, Fia understood how cruel hope could be.
And why she wanted it anyway.