SERAPHINA’S POV
The trip back to Nightfang passed in a blur that my mind refused to stitch together properly.
There were moments I remembered in fragments rather than in sequence—the low hum of engines beneath us, the occasional shudder of the aircraft as it carried us away from the island, the distant sound of people speaking in subdued voices that never quite resolved into meaning.
I remember Kieran’s hand in mine for most of it, firm and grounding, as though he feared that if he loosened his grip even slightly, I might evaporate into nothing.
Exhaustion had sunk into my bones in a way I didn’t think sleep could fix.
It wasn’t ordinary tiredness. It was the hollowed-out kind that came after too many thresholds between life and death, after too many hours spent holding yourself together through sheer force of will.
My body felt like it had forgotten what rest even was. My mind, worse still, seemed unwilling to believe in safety as a concept.
