Page 12 of Nebula Hearts
His eyes open. Glow faint amber for just a second before fading to silver-gold. He blinks up at me, disoriented.
“Aris?” My name comes out slurred. “What...”
Relief floods through me. “Yeah. I’m here. You collapsed.” I keep my hand on his shoulder. Grounding contact for both of us. “Don’t try to sit up yet. Just breathe.”
He’s staring up at me. Disoriented and vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen him. No walls. No control. Just raw confusion and dawning horror as the memories come back.
I tighten my grip on his shoulder. “Stay with me. Right here. Don’t go anywhere in your head yet.”
His hand comes up to grip my wrist, while mine still rests on his shoulder. Not tight enough to hurt, but firm. Anchoring himself. His skin is fever-hot against mine.
We stay like that for a moment, neither of us letting go.
Not yet.
I watch his gaze travel around the chamber. He takes in the dead hunters, the fading light on the walls, and Sarpi’s body.
Watch the memories click into place.
My hands are shaking. Can’t stop them. The adrenaline is crashing and taking my composure with it. I force myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
Sarpi is dead. Tynrax almost died. We’re stranded. Five thousand people are counting on us.
I can fall apart later.
The ground trembles beneath us.
Another aftershock.
Larger than the last one. And I can hear rocks sliding down the cliff face outside. Hear something metal groan in the distance.
The ship. Please don’t let it be the ship.
TYNRAX
Everything hurts.
My head feels like someone took a plasma torch to my brain.
But beneath the pain, there’s warmth. Softness. I’m lying on something yielding. Not stone, not metal.
Aris.
My head is in her lap. I can feel the fabric of her pants under my cheek, the heat of her body, the slight shift of her breathing. Her hand is in my hair. Has been for some time, from the gentle weight of it.
I need to move. Need to sit up and face what I’ve done.
For just a moment, I stay here. Take comfort I don’t deserve from someone who should be running from me.
Her fingers move slightly. A soothing motion. She doesn’t know I’m awake yet.
I don’t want her to know. Don’t want her to pull away. Don’t want to see fear in her eyes when she realizes what I am.
Every thought comes wrapped in static, distorted, barely coherent. And my body, my entire body aches with the kind of deep exhaustion that suggests I’ve been running for hours.
But I haven’t been running. I’ve been...
The memories slot into place. Fragmentary. Incomplete. Wrong.
