The door to Cherion's bedchamber was practically heaved aside, the heavy wood groaning against its hinges as Zarius steered Cherion into the relative safety of the shadows. Going from the cold, echoing halls to the stuffy quiet of the room felt like hitting a wall.
It was too quiet. The silence felt heavy, almost suffocating, broken only by their uneven, matching breaths. Zarius was vibrating, not with the clumsy heat that was currently liquefying Cherion's bones, but with a terrifying, high-tension "Crisis Mode" that made every one of his movements look like he was trying to prevent a structural collapse.
He guided Cherion onto the bed with a steady hand, firm but measured, like he was focusing too hard on getting it right.
