The command tent smelled of damp canvas, sweat, and the sharp ozone left behind by fractured magic. Aiden sat on the edge of the narrow cot, shirt hanging open, white hair plastered to his forehead.
Golden eyes stared at nothing, half-lidded. Every breath pulled at the cracks running through his ribs and spine like broken glass grinding deeper with each movement.
The last two guards stepped out at the Empress's quiet order. The flap fell shut. She turned back to him without a word, red eyes steady.
Amber hair caught the lantern light as she crossed the small space and knelt between his knees. Her palms slid up his bare chest, cool against the fevered skin, covering the worst of the fractures along his sternum and collarbones.
"The bond is still cut," she said, voice low, "but you're not."
