"…there," she murmured faintly, voice soft and worn, as she had finally reached something she could rest against.
Voss didn't move.
He did not loosen his hold.
His hand pressed warmly to her back—steady, intentional. Despite his calm, a flicker of worry flashed in his eyes each time he glanced at her, checking for even a hint of fever or panic. His presence, focused and unwavering, quietly anchored her as she teetered at the edge.
It was only when the tension in her body stopped tightening and started melting that the room shifted again.
The door opened quietly. Lucan stepped in first, and Exile followed. Neither of them spoke. They didn't need to.
Immediately, their presence filled the space—heavy, watchful, edges bristling with tension. Their attention locked onto her the instant they saw her curled against Voss, her relief flickering across her face as the signs of her bloom finally eased.
