Theron gathered Aveline into his arms.
Since he wanted to carry her, he might as well stop pretending otherwise.
She nestled against his chest without stirring, her golden hair spilling over his arm as though she trusted him completely, even in sleep. He studied her face, wondering if he should wake her first.
If whatever he was about to attempt went wrong, perhaps being awake would give her a better chance to react.
He reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from her cheek. She only sighed softly in her sleep and leaned a fraction closer.
The exhaustion etched into her peaceful expression made his heart soften. She must not have slept properly in days. He couldn't bring himself to wake her.
Holding her like this filled him with a strange, quiet contentment—a sense of completeness he had never known how to name.
Then reality intruded.
His hands were occupied.
He couldn't draw a rune.
