Page 399 of Elemental Becoming

“Oh, hold on,” I say, pointing an accusatory finger. “Miss ‘I’m in love!’”

Thane looks over at Lyra and arches an eyebrow. She just shrugs in that infuriatingly casual way of hers.

I mimic her earlier squeal, high-pitched and ridiculous, and immediately wobble, my balance tipping dangerously. But Thane is already there. He catches me without missing a beat, one hand tightening at my waist, the other sliding to the small of my back.

He always catches me.

Lyra grins, completely unbothered by my teasing. “At least I have the decency to keep my swooning behind closed doors.”

“Yousquealed, Lyra.”

“In the privacy of a sealed room,” she says primly, as thoughshe holds the moral high ground. “Unlike some people, I’m not turning Thane’s quarters into a romance novella.”

“Our quarters,” he corrects.

I can’t help smiling when he calls it ours. Like I’ve always belonged here. With him.

Then he chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “She’s more war epic than love story.”

I blink up at him, offended. “Excuse me?”

Thane’s grin widens. “With a few . . . heated interludes.”

Lyra groans and throws her hands into the air as though surrendering to fate. “Can’t you two use your weird bond-communication thing? I don’t need to hear this. I’m leaving.”

She grabs her cloak and heads for the door, still muttering about lovebirds and trauma-induced hormones on her way out. The door clicks shut behind her, her laughter echoing faintly down the hall.

The room grows quiet again.

Thane doesn’t say anything at first. He simply keeps his hand at my waist, guiding me through the next stretch.

“Turn to the left,” he murmurs. “Easy does it.”

I do as he says, twisting at the waist. My muscles protest, stiff and sore, but having him beside me makes it bearable.

“Good,” he says, encouragement threading through his voice. “Now the right.”

I turn that way too, a little more slowly this time. It’s harder. Everything aches. But his hand never leaves my side. His other rests lightly against my shoulder, guiding me just far enough and never too far.

“Breathe,” he reminds me. “You’re doing better than you think.”

I focus on the feel of his hands and the quiet certainty in his words. He doesn’t rush me. He doesn’t let me sink into self-pity.

He simply stays, supporting me in moving forward onebreath, one stretch, one step at a time. He helps me turn back to center, his hand still at my waist, the other brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

We’re standing so close, the space between us feels charged.

And then he says, so quietly I almost miss it, “I thought I lost you that day.”

I continue with my stretches, listening. His gaze remains fixed on me, smoke-gray and full of something deeper than I’ve ever seen him reveal.

“When I saw that bolt hit you, and later when you collapsed, I didn’t think. I just moved.” He swallows, his jaw tightening. “The bond . . . it screamed. I’ve never felt anything like it. Like a part of me had been ripped away.”

I lift my good hand and press my palm to his chest, just over his heart.

“I’m still here,” I say softly.