“They are worth the risk,” Viktor had said to Skye as she warned him about the risks of overexertion.

He handed you a small basket of fruits. His smile, though faint, was warm enough to melt the lingering chill in the air. He leaned down slightly, his sharp eyes meeting yours. There was a weariness to him that couldn’t be hidden—each passing day seemed to drain more from him, leaving him thinner, paler, weaker. Every life he healed took a piece of his own in return. But he didn’t flinch from the sacrifice.

To see the light rekindle in a once-lost soul? That was enough.

“Take your pick,” he said, his voice steady despite the cracks forming within him. “They may not look like the typical fruit, but I promise you—they’re sweeter than anything you’ve known.”

His gaze lingered as you chose a piece, and for a moment, he seemed to forget the weight of his own fragility. His work wasn’t finished—not while you were still recovering. He’d dedicate as much time as it took, no matter the toll, to see you whole again.

“Do you feel better today?” he asked, his tone carrying a subtle hope. “You certainly look stronger.”

His amber eyes lingered a little too long, tracing the lines of your face, your presence softening something inside him. You were beautiful in a way that felt untouchable, like a dream sketched in sunlight. And in that fleeting moment, he almost forgot the guilt that clung to him like a shadow—what happened to Skye, the weight of what he couldn’t save.

“Come,” he said, straightening with a quiet resolve, his coat shifting off his head like a dark wave. “Walk with me.”