He remained weak the following night as well, resting quietly in bed while Silveria sat with him again, mostly out of habit now rather than any real remaining necessity. He drifted in and out of restless sleep throughout the evening, the lingering fever leaving him considerably more open and unguarded than his usual careful self ever allowed.
Somewhere near midnight, he began talking quietly in his sleep, broken and disjointed words that Silveria very nearly missed entirely over the quiet hum of the house settling around them.
"Amara," he mumbled, his voice thick with distress. "Don't go near the water, Amara."
Silveria went completely still, watching him carefully, something cold settling heavy in her chest. She didn't yet know exactly who Amara was, though the raw pain evident in his voice, even fast asleep, told her plainly that whoever she was, she mattered enormously.
