"I won't kill you, Zarius!"
The shout was frantic, a desperate burst of air that felt like it had been clawing its way up Cherion's throat for hours. He jerked upright, his eyes snapping open to find himself not in a greenhouseof shattered porcelain, but in the soft, lavender-scented linens of a bed within their traveling camp.
They were in the final stretch of their journey to the Capital, and the weight of the air already felt different.
His chest was beating like it had chugged six energy drinks, and the cold sweat situation was becoming less "slightly nervous" and more "freshly escaped hostage." The dream, memory? hallucination? emotional sabotage? still felt way too real. He could practically still feel Yerel in his arms, and frankly, his brain needed to stop being so committed to the bit.
Yikes.
"Is this how you suggest we greet each other in the morning?"
