DOM
The fire had died down to embers, painting our room in low orange and shadow. Lena sat on the edge of the bed, her back to me, brushing the damp from her hair. She'd barely spoken since we came back from the veil line, and I didn't know if it was because she was shaken—or if she was giving me time to sort through the storm in my chest.
She knew.
About the Rite. About the bridge. About what completing it would mean for her, for us, for the whole damn world if the Goddess was right.
And she was still ready.
I wasn't.
"You should rest," I said softly, stepping behind her, letting my hands settle on her shoulders. Her skin was warm. Solid. Here.
She tilted her head slightly, not looking at me. "I will. Just needed a second to breathe without everything humming."
"Still feel the veil?"
"It's quieter. But not gone." She paused. "It won't be, will it?"
I didn't answer.
She turned to face me then. "You've been quiet."
"I'm thinking."
"About?"
