A strangled sound left my lips as I shot upright, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Atlas?" My voice cracked.
He blinked sluggishly, his head turning toward me. His lips parted, dry and chapped, but nothing came out.
I didn't care.
I lunged forward, wrapping my arms around him before I could stop myself. His body was warm, feverish still, but alive.
He let out a soft, pained grunt, and I instantly loosened my grip—but I didn't let go. I couldn't.
"You're awake." My voice trembled as I buried my face in the crook of his neck. "You're actually awake."
His breathing was uneven, but I felt his hand—weak, barely there—graze my back. A simple movement, but enough to make my heart clench.
"I was dreaming," he rasped. His voice was hoarse, like it hadn't been used in days. "It felt so real."
I pulled back just enough to look at him. His gaze flickered to my face, something unreadable passing through his expression.
