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I was wearing an oversized white shirt that wasn't mine.

My heart still thundered as I tried to place where I was, who had?—

The sound of Vördr wings beating against wind drifted in from outside, followed by their distinctive neighs, and a shred of understanding tore through me.

"You're awake." Aether's voice came from the doorway.

My body sagged with relief for just a moment before memories flooded back—cold lips against my skin, the endless pull of them feeding, Valkan's dead eyes as he?—

I flinched involuntarily. Aether took a half-step forward before stopping himself, something flickering across his face as he registered my reaction. My gaze crept up to see him towering just a breath below the ceiling, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. His face had returned to that structured perfection, no sign of the cut or bruises I'd seen in Draxon.

"How long?" The words scraped against my throat, raw from disuse.

He held out his canteen. "Drink first."

The sight of it sent ice through my veins. I shook my head sharply, remembering metallic liquid flooding my mouth. Remembering his hand wrapped around my throat. How my back slammed into the wooden table.

A soft sigh escaped him as he settled into a chair across the room. His eyes fixed somewhere past my shoulder, deliberately avoiding direct contact.

"Two days," he said finally.

"Two days?" Panic surged through me as I swung my legs toward the floor. "The others—they're already back from the rip?—"

"Don't." His voice carried no real force. "What's done is done. Urkin knows we diverted. A few more hours won't change anything now."

My gaze fell to my arms, taking in the bandages wrapped around my wrists, my forearms, scattered across my skin in starkwhite patches. Horror coiled in my stomach as I remembered each cut, each blade slicing into me. The way their lips felt pressed against my flesh, leeching me. I twisted the sheet in my fingers.

When I finally looked up, Aether's posture was rigid, troubled. He was still staring past me, jaw clenched tight.

"Where are we?" I asked softly.

"A cabin, about half an hour from Ravenfell."

“Whose cabin?” My eyes darted across the space again.

“Mine. I built it years ago,” he said simply. “No one is supposed to know about it. However, I suppose Rethlyn does now.”

"Why didn't you just take me back to the city?"

He paused, his void burns growing darker. "I didn't want you to be overwhelmed when you woke up."

I nodded, my chest heavy with everything that had happened. The silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken words.

"Draxon will retaliate," I said quietly.

"I know." His eyes traced patterns on the floor, slowly sliding up to the wooden beams.

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know."

His gaze remained on the wall behind me, his brow furrowed with something I couldn't place. And he said nothing more.

Frustration gnawed at me. "Why won't you look at me?"

His head jerked slightly, gaze finally meeting mine before sliding down to my bandaged arms. The look in his eyes was pained, haunted and angry—a look I had never seen before, not on him. Finally, he shook his head, darkness bleeding from his void burns. "What they did to you..." His voice was strained, like he was fighting to contain something volatile. "I didn't get there fast enough."

"You should have gone back to Ravenfell."