Ren woke up because her teeth were chattering so hard they sounded like a maraca solo.
The Onyx Palace wasn't just cold; it was aggressively, soul-sucking frigid. The black stone walls radiated a chill that seemed to bypass skin and freeze the marrow.
"System," Ren whispered, her breath misting in the air. "Current temperature?"
[System Notification: Ambient Temperature: 45°F (7°C). Warning: Host is at risk of hypothermia. Recommended Action: Cuddle harder.]
"I hate you," Ren mumbled.
She tried to pull the fur blanket up to her chin, but it was pinned down.
Syris was currently wrapped around her like a boa constrictor—which, to be fair, he was. His long, pale limbs were tangled with hers in a knot that defied geometry. His head was resting heavily on her chest, his black hair fanned out like silk sheets.
And he was freezing.
"Syris," Ren chattered, poking his marble-cold shoulder. "Wake up. You're sucking the life out of me. I feel like a dementor's snack."
