Lucas wakes up to warmth.
It was the first time he had slept on the fifteenth night of the month. Usually, he would burn all night with oppressive heat that clawed through his veins.
The gentle, steady, and grounding feeling was unfamiliar to him.
For a moment, he doesn't move.
His arm is heavy, draped over something soft. His chest rises and falls against another body smaller than his.
Lucas's breath stills as he realizes that it's morning and Emilia is still in his arms.
She lies still against him, her head resting just beneath his collarbone and her hair spilled across his arm.
One of her hands is curled loosely at his chest, her fingers relaxed with no hint of fear.
Lucas stares at the ceiling, his heart hammering harder than any battle he has ever faced.
He slowly touches his chest, trying to feel him, but Jurua seems to have disappeared.
There is no searing pain or violent pressure in his skull, and his presence isn't curling through his thoughts.
Jurua is… silent.
