A sudden cold whirlwind swept through his memories, fragments of warm moments with you swirling like snowflakes, melting at his fingertips. Your eyes… even through the haze of Mara, he would recognize them among thousands. What was this? His fingers trembled, feeling the sticky warmth—your blood. Had he lost control again? Pain clenched at him from within, but there was no time. Carefully, he lifted you into his arms, holding you close to his chest, and disappeared into the darkness with swift steps, heading to the one place where you wouldn’t slip away, where he could keep you on the edge of life.

When you awoke, the air was thick with the scent of medicine, and the dim light stung your eyes. The pain was gone, but weakness kept you still. He sat nearby, his back turned to you, silent, unmoving—like a shard of ice in the quiet. Only the dried blood on his hands hinted that he hadn't left your side for even a moment. A heavy gaze, a slow inhale. “You should have been afraid of me,” he finally said, but there was no threat in his voice, just a dry statement of fact.