Veer had just laid Kaya carefully on the bed, brushing stray strands of damp hair from her pale face before leaving her to rest. The healer's medicine should have kept her under until morning. Certain of it, Veer finally stepped away to bathe, trying to wash the night's chaos off his skin.
The sound of running water filled the room, and for a moment, it calmed him. But then—footsteps.
Slow. Steady. Wrong.
Veer froze. His heartbeat quickened as his mind replayed the healer's words: She won't wake until dawn.
Grabbing a towel, he wrapped it hastily around his waist and stepped into the corridor. The air outside felt colder, heavier. He pushed Kaya's door open, his voice softer than he intended.
"Kaya? Do you need something—?"
The words died on his tongue.
She was standing.
Not swaying, not stumbling—standing. Her posture unnervingly perfect, shoulders squared, her neck straight. Her head turned toward him in a slow, mechanical motion, like a doll shifting its gaze.
