Azryth had apparently never left my side.
He was still there when I woke up, sitting against the headboard with a book open in his lap, looking unfairly put-together for someone who'd spent the night in a chair-bed hybrid position. The morning light coming through the window caught the sharp angles of his face, and I had the deeply unhelpful thought that nobody should look that good after an all-nighter.
"You stayed," I said, voice rough with sleep.
"You asked me to." He set down the book, one of the warden texts from downstairs. "How are you feeling?"
I checked myself over. Emotionally raw, physically exhausted, magically drained, and saddled with newly resurfaced memories that were equal parts precious and emotionally catastrophic.
"Like I got hit by a truck made of trauma," I said. "But functional, I think."
The seal on my left wrist pulsed warmly, no longer burning but humming with quiet insistence. Like it was waiting for something.
