I woke slowly, the way you do when you’re warm and don’t want to examine why. Light filtered through my eyelids. Had I fallen asleep on the couch again? There was a slight shift, the rise and fall of someone breathing.

  Syrin.

  I stiffened slightly. Mercy. I’d fallen asleep against him. Was he fine with that?

  A hand traced lightly down my arm. He was… That was new. Relief washed through me, loosening a knot I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying. His other arm was curved around me, careful, like part of him was still standing guard.

  I shifted again, not wanting to open my eyes. That meant danger, leaving. I almost laughed. This was like the it’s-cold-I-don’t-want-to-get-out-of-bed dilemma, but times a thousand. And it was cold too somehow, just in a very wrong way. The cold was still in my chest, like congestion if congestion could turn you into a shadow creature, but it was still held back by that warm pressure that made me feel relaxed and cozy.

  Finally, I shifted again and opened my eyes. I could see Syrin’s glow across his hand, gold threaded faintly with silver. It pulsed faintly in time with his breathing, dancing and twisting occasionally in little patterns.

  I tipped my head just enough to look at him.

  His eyes were closed, but his brow was faintly furrowed, like rest hadn’t fully claimed him.

  “Syrin?” I whispered.

  He let out a quiet hum, fingers tightening just a fraction at my side.

  “Are we… what’s happening?”

  He let out a long breath. “Your mother is adjusting the plans, your grandmother is… I’m not sure exactly. There was a lot of banging in the kitchen at one point, then some voices in Spanish.”

  He frowned. “There isn’t a TV in there, so I’m not sure…”

  I giggled. “Probably one of her radio shows that she likes.”

  Syrin opened his eyes, blinking at me. “Like… in the car?”

  “Yeah, but you can listen on your phone and things too.”

  “Ah.”

  “And you just stayed here?”

  He shifted slightly. “Is that okay?”

  “Yeah. You didn’t want to plan with Mom?”

  His grip tightened. “Better that I stay here.”

  Right. The same room thing, but he did need to plan, and something had been rubbing me wrong lately. My dreams had been full of failed plans and imagining towers I’d never seen, but it had sharpened one thing. “Syrin, I’ve been thinking…”

  He shifted slightly, as if he didn’t like that opening, and his glow flickered white and gray.

  My gaze sharpened on him. “Not about that. Stop thinking I’m going to abandon you at the slightest provocation.”

  He opened his mouth, and then immediately shut it, cheeks flushing. “Sorry. I’m still trying to believe you could want me around after everything.”

  I snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

  His glow flickered gold. “Maybe.”

  “Definitely,” I corrected. “But what I was going to say was, you’ll anchor the portal with the keeper-in-training, right?”

  Syrin nodded.

  “So, she’s probably young and easier to, well, kill. Plus, she’s right there, so… why haven’t they targeted her yet?”

  Syrin stiffened, white threading through the gold. “Nina?” he called suddenly.

  A few seconds later, Mom appeared in the hallway. “What?”

  Syrin’s face was bleak. “We may need to shift our plans. I’m not entirely sure we can trust my cousin. We should talk now.”

  Mom froze for a second, but then let out a slow breath and nodded. “I’ll get my mother.”

  Mom disappeared into the kitchen, her voice already carrying as she called for Abuela. Syrin hesitated for half a second, eyes flicking down to me.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said quietly. It sounded like a promise and an apology wrapped together.

  “I know,” I said, trying for lightness. “Go. Talk. Strategize. Do ominous, secretive, magical things.”

  His lips twitched, but his glow stayed threaded with white as he straightened. Letting go was… careful. Like he was testing whether the world would crack if he moved too fast. Heat spiked inside me the moment the space between us opened, like the pressure gradient was reacting to him leaving.

  I let out a hissed breath.

  “Trina?” Syrin asked, voice panicked. Then the pressure stabilized again, slightly too warm but not painful.

  “It’s fine,” I said, waving him off. “Go plan.”

  Syrin paused by the table as if he wasn’t sure he should actually leave. Finally, he leaned down to squeeze my shoulder, then turned on his heel and disappeared down the hallway. Mom followed.

  Abuela arrived not long after, bearing a steaming bowl like it was both sustenance and weapon. She clucked at the sight of me, her expression sharp and worried all at once.

  “Te ves fatal,” she declared, setting the bowl down on the coffee table. You look awful.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Gracias,” I muttered.

  She ignored that entirely and pressed the bowl into my hands. The soup smelled rich and comforting, even if my stomach still felt like it was negotiating terms with gravity.

  “Despacio,” she said, more gently now. Slowly.

  I managed a few careful spoonfuls. Warmth spread through me in a way that had nothing to do with magic. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until that moment.

  Her eyes kept flicking to the hallway. Then back to me. “él está muy preocupado,” she said finally. He is very worried.

  I swallowed. “Yeah. He does that.”

  She studied my face, like she was cataloguing symptoms. “Es bueno,” she said after a moment. He is good.

  I hesitated, then nodded. “Sí. Lo es.”

  Her mouth curved, just barely. “Pero muy serio.” Very serious.

  I couldn’t keep back a grin at that. I went back to my soup, the pressure in my chest easing just a fraction.

  “?Quieres ver algo?” she asked. Want to watch something?

  I nodded.

  A minute later, one of her favorite telenovelas was on. My lips twitched into a smile. Was this a not so subtle hint that I needed to work on my Spanish?

  Footsteps sounded in the hallway. My pulse jumped before I could stop it.

  Syrin reappeared a moment later, tension rolling off him in waves that were almost visible with how his glow flickered. The instant he spotted me upright and eating, something in him loosened. He crossed the room in three strides and sat down beside me, close enough that our knees brushed. His glow settled into a steadier gold threaded faintly with silver.

  As soon as he touched me, it seemed like the heat inside faded to a more pleasant warmth. Maybe I was just imagining it. Or maybe the Light just liked him. That was probably it.

  Abuela looked at Syrin. “También te ves agotado. Necesitas sopa.” You need soup. She pointed to the stack of bowls and soup on the table. “Come.” Eat.

  Syrin didn’t move. “No debería—”

  “Cómetelo,” she commanded, standing and dishing him a bowl.

  Syrin shifted carefully to take the bowl, like he didn’t want to break contact. I eyed him. He glanced between us and began to eat. When Abuela had settled in the armchair on the other side of the room, I said softly in Kirathi. “You’ve become pretty touchy.”

  He froze. “Is that bad?” The words came out sharper than usual.

  I blinked. “No, but this is more than just ‘Trina is comfy.’”

  His glow flickered silver. “Easier for the Light if I maintain contact,” he admitted.

  Hmm. So, it did like him near. I wasn’t imagining it. The pressure inside did feel much nicer when he was close—more like a blanket, a warm, enveloping pressure instead of the occasional flares of heat or cold.

  I pursed my lips. “You could have just said that.”

  “I said we should stay in the same room.”

  “‘Same room’ and ‘in contact’ are different.”

  He just leaned in closer. I carefully set my now empty bowl back on the table. The movement caused him to stiffen. Then I slipped under his arm and curled against his side again, and he relaxed.

  “Are we leaving soon?” I asked softly.

  He grimaced. “In a few hours. There’s something I have to… I need more information. We have to wait.”

  “Well, guess you can watch the telenovela with me.”

  He grunted, but his eyes barely flickered to the screen. In fact, after a second they closed, but I could tell by how stiff he was that Syrin wasn’t even close to asleep.

  A few hours later, I woke to a crash. Then—

  Fire ripped through me. I let out a sharp gasp, and my fingernails dug into my palm.

  “Trina!” Syrin’s voice was panicked. “Sorry, I just— I panicked with the assassins and everything, but it was the bowl, and—”

  I shuddered against him as the temperature fluctuated again, dipping cold. Blackness clawed at my vision.

  “Syrin!” I said, voice breaking.

  He cursed, and suddenly his arms were wrapped tight around me. Light flared against my eyes, and when it faded, the darkness had cleared. It was just the living room, no mists of shadow.

  I let out a heaving breath. My insides still felt wrong, like an equilibrium that hadn’t quite been reached, and even with Syrin touching me, the warmth was too hot.

  Syrin trembled against me, then let out a long breath. Slowly, his breathing evened out, and the pressure seemed to even out with it. Oh.

  His magic was connected to emotion, and he’d stuffed it inside me. I hadn’t realized it would still be so connected to him, but then again, if the Light perceived the world through him like he’d told me, that sort of made sense.

  I looked up at Syrin. He still seemed on the edge. “We need to leave soon,” he said. “I got the information I needed, mostly. More would be ideal, but—” He cut off sharply.

  “But what?”

  He bit his lip. “Well… when is information ever enough? We could plan forever. I don’t want your infection to get worse.”

  I let out a long breath. That wasn’t everything. One of those Trina-can’t-know-the-plan things then. Better not to push it. Better the shadow didn’t know.

  A car honked outside, and the heat burst slightly again, more controlled this time, but I couldn’t hold back the small gasp.

  Syrin’s breath hitched.

  I trembled against him as the heat faded back. “So, when are we leaving?” I asked softly.

  “Now.”

  “Wait. Now as in… right now?”

  “Yes. That is what I said.” His voice was sharper than usual. “Nina!” he called. “I found a window and a location.”

  I scrambled to grab my satchel, and Syrin let out a panicked sound as the heat briefly flared again.

  Mom rushed into the room from wherever she’d been planning. “We haven’t quite worked all the kinks out yet,” Mom said, evenly.

  Syrin’s voice was strained. “No. But I can’t—It’s becoming too—”

  “We’re out of time,” Mom finished, glancing at me.

  Syrin just nodded.

  “Mamá!” Mom yelled. Sound echoed from the back hallway like Abuela had been working on something.

  I studied Mom. I hadn’t seen her in Kirathi clothes in ages—the belted tunic, the trousers, the beautiful blue cloak. And on her belt was a dagger, unadorned and around eight inches in length.

  “I thought you left that in Kirath,” I said, staring at the dagger.

  Mom snorted. “So, your father could ‘accidentally’ take it? I don’t think so.”

  Syrin glanced between us. “What is it?”

  Mom shrugged. “Enchanted throwing dagger. Nothing flashy. It just teleports back after I throw it.”

  Syrin just blinked like he was realizing exactly how much adventuring Mom had actually done. Then Abuela appeared. “?Te vas?”

  “Sí.”

  Abuela’s expression fractured slightly. She hugged Mom first. Then she embraced me. She gave the best hugs, warm and firm and with a grip that you just knew she cared somehow. “Cuídate y vuelve,” she whispered. Take care of yourself and come back.

  “I will,” I whispered.

  She squeezed me once more before letting go and turning to Syrin. “Cuida de ella,” she ordered, pointing to me.

  “Lo haré,” he said softly.

  Abuela nodded firmly, then sat in the armchair, like she was planning to act as a witness.

  “Trina,” Syrin said softly. “This will be… very difficult. I need you to hold on to me. Do not let go.” He looked at me. “Understand?”

  I nodded, wide-eyed.

  “You sure you can do this?” Mom asked.

  Syrin grimaced. “Not much choice anymore. I’m not sure we could make it to the other portal.”

  I blinked. Wait like… my portal? Why would we want—

  But there was no time to ask questions. Mom nodded and gripped Syrin’s shoulder. I moved to do the same, but Syrin shook his head. “A lot of my magic is inside you, Trina. I need you right up against me.”

  I ducked under his arm and wrapped my arms around him, holding tight.

  Syrin began writing something in the air with Light. Before when he’d done that, it had created a slight glow. Now it was like everywhere his finger traced tore holes in reality, light slamming into the world through the runes that quickly became too bright to look at. I hid my face against Syrin’s chest.

  The air felt almost loud around me, like it was vibrating. This wasn’t like my portal. This felt like stepping into an explosion. Like the Light was pressing against us.

  Cold crept up in my chest. It was just as quickly chased away by a lick of heat, and I flinched against Syrin. He was still writing and muttering. I peeked through my lashes at Mom. She was gripping Syrin's arm with two hands now, eyes closed and jaw clenched.

  Syrin’s breath hitched. Then his other arm wrapped tight around me. For a moment, all the light in the room seemed to flash between a million shades of metallic hues. Every hue I’d seen Syrin glow and more.

  And then it all slammed towards us. I flinched as the pressure hit, and even Syrin grunted this time. His breathing was uneven and heavy against me.

  Then the world twisted along with my stomach, and the room simply ceased to exist.