Seamus didn't return to the manor until nearly dawn.
The sky had begun to lighten, a faint violet haze bleeding through the coastal clouds. The air still smelled like stormwater and regret.
He trudged up the long walkway to WindSwept, every step heavier than the last. His coat clung to him like a second skin—salt-soaked, sweat-stained, and wrinkled from hours of desperate movement. He had searched every back alley, tavern, and broken market stall in Puerto Cuidad. Even their tavern—the one where it all started.
But no sign of her.
Elena.
Her name had echoed in his head all night, bobbing like a lone buoy in a storm-thrashed sea. Every breath he took hurt. Every silence felt longer without her.
He barely registered Kenneth waiting at the top of the stairwell.
The older man looked poised to scold him—just like in the old days, when Seamus would vanish for nights at a time, chasing pleasure or fleeing pain. But when Kenneth caught sight of his master's face, he stopped cold. The reprimand caught in his throat.
Seamus looked like a man who hadn't just lost a battle—he'd lost the whole damn war.
Kenneth bowed slightly as Seamus passed him. Neither said a word.
Seamus didn't bother removing his boots. Didn't change. Didn't even light a lamp. He shut the door behind him with a quiet groan, staggered across the room, and collapsed face-down on the bed.
The covers pulled over him in a rough motion, and then—
Darkness.
He didn't even notice the shift beside him.
Didn't feel the warmth of another body in the bed.
Didn't hear the sigh that followed.
Elena stirred.
Her body was warm, skin soft beneath the blankets. The first thing she registered was how good she felt—her joints didn't ache, her ribs didn't sting, and her mind wasn't clouded in fear or pain.
Niegal, she thought.
The second thing she registered was the snoring.
Right beside her.
Her eyes snapped open. Muscles coiled tight. Her magic reacted before her thoughts could catch up—her fingers sparked with crackling purple light, a new spell she'd only just recently mastered. A defensive shield ready to launch.
She turned her head—slowly, deliberately.
The sight stopped her in her tracks.
"Seamus?!"
The ball of magic fizzled out with a small pop, harmless embers floating into the air. She blinked, mouth slightly parted in disbelief.
There he was.
Snoring.
Lying just inches from her.
His beard was slightly unkempt. His face was pale and drawn. He still wore the same clothes as yesterday—creased, damp at the edges, smelling of salt and iron.
Elena let out a slow breath, hand going to the back of her neck as she scratched awkwardly, caught somewhere between confusion and embarrassment.
She moved to get out of the bed—but his hand shot out and caught her wrist.
Her breath hitched.
He didn't open his eyes. But his voice came, rough and hoarse.
"Please…" he whispered. "Stay with me."
Elena paused.
Then nodded, wordlessly, sinking back under the blankets.
The distance between them was only inches. But it might as well have been miles.
He rolled to face her. Slowly. Deliberately.
She turned, too. Her face unreadable. But her eyes didn't shy away.
There was silence.
Thick with memories, loss, and things unsaid.
"…We need to talk," Elena said softly. Her voice was gentle—gentler than she meant it to be.
She reached beneath the pillow and pulled something out—a single folded page. She didn't look at him as she offered it. Just held it out in open hands.
Seamus frowned.
He took the page gingerly, their fingers brushing.
And in that instant—
the world cracked open.
The vision slammed into them both like lightning through water.
A bed. White sheets tangled. Bodies entwined. Skin on skin.
Where one began and the other ended, only the gods knew.
There was no fear in this place. No guilt. No sorrow.
Only an overwhelming flood of relief.
Of comfort.
Of something deeper—older—love.
Time stopped.
And then—
They were no longer in the vision.
They were here.
Now.
But in the same position as the vision.
His lips met hers with sudden, ravenous need. Their mouths searched hungrily, desperately. And then—
He was in her.
Their bodies surged forward together, a tidal wave that could not be undone. Her nails scraped down his back. His hands cradled her head. His lips roamed her skin, his breath warm against her neck, her collarbone, her mouth.
They moved like they'd been starving.
No words.
Only sound.
Moans, sharp and shaking, mixed with gasps that spilled from their throats like prayers—prayers said too late.
And when they reached climax, they didn't hold back.
They cried out. Together.
A single sound, torn from shared longing.
Then silence.
Breathless.
Wrecked.
Alive.
Seamus collapsed beside her, chest rising and falling against her own.
He kissed her again. And again. And again.
As if she were water and he'd been dying of thirst.
Elena didn't speak. Didn't stop him. She clung to him like an anchor, heart pounding.
Eventually, their lips slowed.
Their limbs stayed tangled. Hands locked. Skin still tingling.
No promises were spoken aloud.
But the air between them shifted.
Something unspoken. Something solid.
No more distance.
No more running.
Together, or not at all.
Sleep returned like a fog rolling in from the sea.
And this time, they let it take them.
Together.