ADAM
I watched them work on her as if I were already losing her.
The priest murmured prayers under his breath, fingers glowing faintly as he traced sigils in the air above Sage's body. While the doctor moved with efficient calm, checking vials and bandages, checking her pulse, her breathing, her pupils.
Magic and medicine mingled in my room, the air thick with incense and herbs, sharp enough to sting the back of my throat.
I paced. Back and forth, from the foot of the bed to the window, then back again. My boots thudded softly against the polished floor, the sound grounding me just enough to keep me from tearing something apart. Or someone.
She lay too still.
Her face was pale against the dark sheets, lashes resting against her cheeks, lips parted just slightly. If not for the steady rise and fall of her chest, I might have thought her gone.
And yet, even unconscious, there had been that smile.
