ALTHEA
"This will hurt him," Cyrion warned. "Death does not release its grip willingly. He will wake in agony."
"Just bring him back," I pleaded.
The dark light descended.
It sank into Thorne's chest like water into parched earth, spreading through his veins in visible tendrils of shadow and silver. His body convulsed, muscles seizing, and I held him through it, whispering nonsense reassurances that neither of us believed.
Then his chest rose.
A single, rattling breath that sounded like it had been dragged from the underworld itself.
His heart beat once. Twice. Finding its rhythm again.
"Thorne," I sobbed, pressing my face against his hair. "Thorne, please. Come back to me."
His eyelids fluttered but didn't open. Not yet. The resurrection was incomplete, his soul still finding its way back to flesh.
I wiped the tears from my face with shaking hands, steeling myself for what came next.
The goodbye.
The final one.
