Cherion's eyes snapped open, blinking rapidly as he tried to process everything at once. Cherion lay stared at the sloped ceiling of the tent, still half-lost in that blurry space between sleep and reality. For a few glorious seconds, he let himself float there. The blankets were warm, the air sharp, and for once, everything felt calm.
Then, he rolled over.
Cherion reached out without thinking, looking for the warmth he'd grown ridiculously used to, but all he found was cold, empty sheets.
Cherion's eyes snapped open. He sat up, the movement a bit too fast, sending a dull throb through his temples. He looked at the other side of the bed, and his heart did a queer little stutter. The bedding was pristine. Not only was it empty, it was suspiciously neat. The furs were straightened, the pillow fluffed, as if no one had ever slept there.
Zarius hadn't slept there.
