The world dissolved in an inward rush, a sensory blur of spent pleasure, tangled limbs, and dorm-room quiet snapping back into the sharper, colder reality of threat and consequence. The transition was not gentle.
They were back. Back in the sitting room of that fateful night, the day they found out about Ruby's prophecy. Six people, four men, two women.
"Ha—!" Oathran stumbled, his body lurched as the phantom sensations of a mortal climax and the sudden solidity of stone floor collided. Eastiel's arm shot out instantly, catching him before he could fall.
"What's wrong?" Eastiel asked, his brow furrowed in concern. His gaze then snapped to Cecilia, who had also stumbled, caught in the steady hold of Arkai.
For a single, loaded second, Cecilia and Oathran's eyes met across the room. A universe of understanding passed between them, all compressed into a glance. For the life of him, Oathran couldn't predict the storm brewing behind her blue-green-grey eyes now.
