“What the hell happened to you?”

Liam’s voice was sharp, slicing through the haze clouding your thoughts. You barely registered the sound over the static ringing in your skull, over the thunder of your dragon screaming Get help, now! inside your head. You couldn’t tell if the hallway was spinning or if it was just you, but every step toward the sleeping quarters felt like wading through fire and fog.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your mouth felt like cotton, your limbs heavy with exhaustion. You were burning from the inside out, your signet overused past the point of reason, veins still humming with that pulsing energy that had nowhere else to go. The moment your shoulder hit the cool stone wall, your legs gave out beneath you.

Liam was suddenly there. You barely saw him move—just felt the strength of his arms catching you before you hit the floor. You wanted to protest, but all you managed was a faint, slurred, “’m fine,” which fooled absolutely no one. “You don’t look fine,” he muttered, slipping your arm over his shoulders like it wasn’t even a question.

He adjusted his grip, his brows drawn tight as his palm brushed your forehead. The heat of your skin made him freeze for half a second. “Shit,” he breathed. You were burning up—boiling—like your body was trying to incinerate itself from the inside.

“Someone pushed you,” he said, more to himself than to you, his voice a mixture of anger and disbelief. “Pushed you way too far.”

There was no time for the medics. Not with the way your breathing was already shallow, your skin flushed with unnatural heat, your signet still sparking off your fingertips like a live wire. You should’ve stopped long ago, but someone must’ve kept pushing—and you let them.

Liam pivoted and half-carried, half-dragged you down the corridor toward his room. His jaw was clenched so hard it looked like it might crack. “Stay with me, alright?” he muttered, glancing down at your face, which had gone pale and drawn. “You’re not passing out on me.”