DARIAN

The moment the healers rush into our bedroom, my heart feels like it’s hanging by a thread. Iris is lying on the bed, too still, too pale, her lashes resting against her skin like fragile shadows. Her breathing is shallow, but steady enough that I don’t collapse outright.

Still… I can’t stay still.

I pace.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

The marble floor beneath my boots is cold, but sweat clings to my palms. The room smells of lavender, warm sunlight, and Iris, usually comforting scents, but right now they suffocate me.

Daisy sits beside the bed, holding Iris’s limp hand between both of hers. She keeps whispering,...