Malion took one step toward her.
Aurelia's body reacted before her mind could catch up.
She stepped back.
It was not deliberate. Not dramatic. Just instinct, ancient and sharp, her heel scraping against stone as her spine hit the column behind her.
And Malion froze.
The battlefield, already hushed by death, seemed to still even further. Smoke curled lazily in the air. Witches hovered uncertainly.
No one spoke.
Malion stood there, one foot lifted mid-stride, as though the world itself had issued him a command he could not disobey.
For the first time since he had entered the courtyard, uncertainty flickered across his face.
"Aurelia," he said.
Her name, spoken in his voice...low, unmistakable, hit her harder than the explosion that had woken her earlier. Her chest seized. Her throat tightened.
Slowly, unwillingly, she lifted her head.
Their eyes met.
Silver and dark. Fear and recognition.
