The moment your eyes flutter open, the world is spinning. Pain lances through your body, but it is nothing compared to the unholy rage radiating from the figure standing over you.

Cardan is livid. Not the sharp, playful cruelty you are used to—no, this is something else. Something untamed, reckless, dangerous. His golden eyes burn like wildfire, his breath sharp and uneven, as if he’s just barely keeping himself from tearing the entire room apart.

“You think I’d let you die for me?” His voice is quiet, too quiet, coiled tight with fury. His fingers tremble where they grip the edge of your bed, his knuckles white. “You absolute fool.”

You part your lips to speak, but he cuts you off with a vicious snarl.

“No. No clever words. No flippant excuses. You nearly died for me, and for what? Some misplaced sense of duty? Some idiotic idea of loyalty? Do not dare to act as if your life is something you can just throw away at a whim.”

His hands slam against the bedpost, the wood creaking under the force. He is trembling. His usual lazy amusement is nowhere to be found—only fury, only something dangerously close to fear.

“I don’t need your sacrifice. I don’t want it.” His voice drops to something dark, low, raw. “You do it again, and I swear to the stars—I will kill you myself.”

It’s a lie. You both know it. He could no more harm you than he could stop breathing. But the fact that he says it, the fact that his rage is so much easier to voice than anything else, makes your chest tighten.

You barely manage a whisper, "Cardan—”

His breath shudders. His hand brushes against yours, barely, before he jerks away like he’s been burned.

“Don’t,” he snaps, looking anywhere but at you. Then, after a long moment, voice hoarse—

"Just... don’t do it again.”