Page 52 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time (To Fall Through Time #1)

T he room is quiet now, save for the slow, steady rhythm of Dorian’s breathing. The fever has broken. His skin is no longer slick with sweat, no longer burning beneath Selene’s touch. He lies still beneath the covers, his chest rising and falling with each measured breath.

Selene watches him, unwilling to close her eyes. She knows she should rest, but she cannot bring herself to move from his side. Not yet.

Across the room, Soren slouches on the settee, half-asleep. His chin is tilted forward, his arms crossed over his chest, but every so often, his head jerks up slightly as though some part of him refuses to slip fully into sleep.

Selene doesn’t want to think about what he has been through these past few days, but she knows the rest is earned.

She shifts beside Dorian, curling her body next to his. The night is cool, a breeze whispering through the curtains, but she doesn’t mind the chill.

“Go to bed,” Soren mutters without opening his eyes.

Selene exhales a quiet laugh. “You first.”

His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t argue.

“Soren…” Selene begins.

“If you try to thank me for saving him, I’m going back to disliking you.”

Selene’s lips purse into a smile. “I read you a bedtime story. I’m your sister now, I’ve decided.”

Soren groans. “Never once in my life have I ever wanted an irritating little sister.”

“I’m older than you,” she reminds him.

“So you are.” He grins. “I notice you didn’t object to the irritating part—”

“I will throw a pillow at you.”

“No, you won’t. You wouldn’t risk disturbing your precious husband—”

Selene scrambles out of bed, marches into the next room, seizes a cushion from one of the chairs, and returns to hurl it in Soren’s face. He laughs. She picks it up and batters him with it, again and again, until she tosses it aside to hug him.

It’s not just to say thank you for saving Dorian. It’s to say thank you for making it safely home.

Soren flinches briefly before exhaling against her stomach, and letting his arms drift around her back.

Mine, thinks Selene. Soren is as much hers as Dorian is Ariella’s. He’s hers in a way she hadn’t known to claim another person. Whatever he says about never wanting a sister is a lie .

“Soren?” she whispers.

“Mmm?” he responds, voice muffled against the fabric of her dress.

“Next time you get poisoned, please let us know.”

“Noted.”

She pulls away from him, picking up the cushion. “Are you going to tell me how you got poisoned?”

“Nope.”

Selene takes a moment. “If… if you know about poisons, what happened with Lord Gideon?” she asks.

“I wasn’t there,” he tells her. “By the time I got to the capital, it was too late.”

No wonder he sticks so close to Dorian now. He likely blames himself in a way he shouldn’t, but will.

She looks back at Dorian. He hasn’t stirred once since they gave him the antidote, hasn’t mumbled in his sleep or called out for ghosts from his past. A good sign, she hopes.

Soren shifts, rubbing a hand down his face. “He’ll wake soon.”

Selene nods. “I know.” But soon isn’t now.

She wants to hear his voice, see his eyes open, confirm for herself that he is truly going to be all right. The thought of losing him had been too close, too real. Even now, it lingers, curling in the pit of her stomach like something waiting to pounce.

“You should eat something,” Soren says after a moment, his voice softer this time.

“I’m not hungry.”

Soren sighs but doesn’t press.

For a while, silence settles between them. Outside, the wind shifts through the trees, a rustling sound that might have been peaceful on any other night .

Selene reaches forward, brushing her fingers over the back of Dorian’s hand. He is warm, but not feverish. His pulse beats steady beneath her touch.

She closes her eyes briefly, swallowing against the tightness in her throat.

“You really love him, don’t you?” Soren murmurs.

Selene stiffens, her fingers curling slightly.

It isn’t really a question.

“Yes,” she tells him. “And when he wakes up, I need to make sure he knows.”

Selene wakes slowly, warmth pressed against her side, her body curled in comfort she doesn’t remember allowing herself. The sheets beneath her are soft, and for the first time in days, the air in the room feels light—no lingering sickness, no stifling heat.

She blinks herself into wakefulness, the world still blurry with sleep. Then she realises—Dorian is awake.

He’s watching her.

His head is still on the pillow, his dark eyes open, his expression unreadable. But there’s life there now, true wakefulness, not the fevered, unfocused glances from before. His breathing is steady, his colour stronger.

Selene’s heart lurches.

“Dorian,” she breathes.

His lips curve—just slightly, just enough. “Good morning.” His voice is hoarse, rough with exhaustion, but it’s real.

She doesn’t realise she’s shaking until she lifts a hand to touch his face. She hesitates, afraid he might disappear if she so much as blinks, but when her fingertips brush his cheek, he leans into her touch. Solid. Real. Here.

Tears well in her eyes.

“You—” Her voice catches, and she lets out a weak laugh instead. “You absolute bastard.”

His brows lift in faint amusement. “I take it… I worried you?”

Selene lets out a breathless, broken sound and buries her face in the sheets beside him. “I hate you,” she whispers.

Dorian huffs a quiet laugh. “No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” she agrees, already shifting, lifting herself up on her elbows.

She should say something more. She should be careful, cautious—he’s still weak, still recovering.

But all she can think is that he’s alive.

And then his hand is in her hair, threading through the strands with a familiarity that makes her want to melt into him. “You stayed,” he murmurs.

Selene lets out a soft, trembling breath. “Of course I did.”

She lifts a hand towards his hair, brushing it over his shoulder. It’s so pretty, the way it catches the light. Red-gold. “I like your hair,” she tells him. “I like…” I like all of you, really. I like all of you so, so much it hurts.

And Gods, is he worth it. All of it. Every awful thing that has happened to her, and every awful thing that will. All worth it to have him in her life, to know him, to love him.

Dorian studies her, eyes tracing over her face, as though memorising her all over again. Then, just as gently, he tugs her closer.

She doesn’t resist.

Their lips meet softly at first, hesitantly, as if neither of them quite believe this moment is real. His fingers press at the nape of her neck, anchoring her there, and she deepens the kiss without thinking, without caution.

Dorian exhales against her, as if he’s been waiting for this, as if the only thing he needed to come back to the world was her.

She pulls away just enough to whisper. “You scared me.”

His forehead rests against hers, his breath warm against her lips. “I know.”

Selene’s fingers tighten in his shirt. “Don’t do it again.”

Dorian lets out a breath—half laugh, half something else. “I’ll try.”

Soren wakes with a start, his eyes snapping open as if some unseen force has jolted him from sleep. He takes a second to orient himself, blinking blearily at the dim morning light filtering through the curtains. Then he sees Dorian.

Awake.

With a strangled sound, he launches himself off the settee and straight onto the bed, knocking into Dorian with a force that has Selene half-wincing.

“You fucking idiot,” Soren chokes out, gripping Dorian’s shoulders as if to reassure himself that he’s real.

“You absolute, stubborn bastard, you nearly died.”

Dorian wheezes. “Good morning to you too.”

Soren ignores him, pressing his forehead against Dorian’s, as if checking for fever even though he knows it’s gone. “Don’t do that again,” he mutters.

“You too?” Dorian says, voice dry.

Selene pushes herself up from the bed, smiling despite herself. “I’ll let the others know.”

She slips out quietly, giving the brothers their moment.

In the next room, Aunt Elizabeth is dozing in an armchair, her head tipped slightly to the side. The sight of her, so dignified even in sleep, makes Selene’s heart ache. She’s barely left Dorian’s side either.

Selene kneels beside her and gently touches her hand. “Aunt Elizabeth,” she whispers .

The older woman stirs, her eyes fluttering open. It takes a second for her to focus, but when she sees Selene, she straightens. “What is it?”

“He’s awake.”

For a moment, Aunt Elizabeth simply stares at her. Then, without a word, she grips Selene’s hands, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. She nods sharply, standing, composing herself in a heartbeat.

Selene moves on, hurrying down the corridor. She knocks on Rookwood’s door but gets no answer. With a frown, she tries Ariella’s next.

The door creaks open.

Rookwood isn’t in his own room—he’s here.

Selene blinks. He’s lying beside Ariella on the bed, curled around her body. He’s mostly clothed, but his wooden leg is propped up on the floor beside him. He’s definitely been here all night. Ariella is still half-asleep, her hair messy, the sheets pulled around her.

Selene crosses her arms, pretending to be scandalised. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” says Ariella, at the same time that Rookwood says “yes.”

Ariella startles awake properly at that, eyes widening in alarm. Rookwood, however, doesn’t look particularly concerned. He just sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “You better have woken us up for a good reason.”

“Dorian’s awake.”

Ariella sucks in a sharp breath, sitting up fully. “He’s—?”

“He’s awake, and he’s lucid.”

Rookwood is already reaching for his leg, strapping it on with quick, practised movements. “Well, why the hell are we still sitting here? ”

Ariella shoves the blankets off her and stumbles out of bed. Selene barely has time to step aside before they’re both moving past her, practically running.