[Alvar's POV —Lief's Chamber—Continuation]
Leif's body lay on the bed… but his soul was already slipping away from me.
His chest rose once—barely. Fell—barely. The veins of light beneath his skin flickered like a dying ember trying to stay alive in a storm. Every second that passed—another piece of him broke away.
I sat beside him, gripping his hand so tightly my bones ached. But he didn't squeeze back.
He didn't twitch.
He didn't live.
My thumb brushed his wedding ring over and over, frantic, desperate—as if reminding him through sheer force:
You're mine. You're here. Don't go.
Mother's voice—shaken but firm—broke the silence.
"There must be a way," she whispered, eyes fixed on Leif as if willing him to wake. "A way to save him. There always is."
Lord Viktor stepped closer, jaw clenched. "Yes. It's not possible that a poison exists with no cure. Everything has a solution in this world. There MUST be a way, Eryndor."
Yes. There must be a way. There had to be.
