She looked up, her vision still spinning slightly, and found herself staring into a pair of familiar comforting eyes.
Reign.
Realization struck like a sharp inhale—the former palace cook.
For a moment, the sight of him anchored her. He looked almost exactly the same: messy dark hair, strong arms that had spent years measuring alien ingredients and chopping ingredients with precision, and that unshakable air of casual confidence.
But right now, his confidence was replaced with something else—concern.
"Thalina?" His voice was firm, steady, grounding.
She managed a small smile, but it wavered. Reign's eyes narrowed, scanning her face. Her skin was a lighter shade of blue than usual. Pale.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his fingers gently gripping her arms as if he was afraid she might crumble if he let go.
"A-ah, yes," she blurted, her voice too high-pitched, unnatural. It made her wince.
Reign didn't look convinced.
