Page 186 of Salt Between the Wolves
For a single disorienting moment, she felt two directions at once—not two emotions or two thoughts, but two distinct pulls, one familiar and one impossible.
The room blurred around her as the sensation deepened. It felt as though something beneath the surface of her skin had suddenly awakened, stretching between opposite points and pulling taut. Neither presence overwhelmed the other or disappeared; they simply existed together in a way that felt profoundly wrong.
A chill ran through her as she realized that, for one impossible heartbeat, she could no longer distinguish where one ended and the other began.
The world lurched.
Pain exploded through her chest.
Eira sucked in a sharp breath as heat flared beneath her skin, not from Soren's mark, but from the older one—the mark buried beneath years of obedience, years of fear, and everything Frostvein had taught her to become.
The pain came again, deeper this time, and beneath it she felt something else.
Not a voice.
Not words.
Only the unmistakable certainty of attention.
It felt as though something far away had suddenly become aware of her existence, as though a hand had reached across an impossible distance, touched a forgotten thread, and discovered that it still remained intact.
"Eira?"
The voice sounded distant.
The room tilted violently.
The two sensations collided again, overlapping for a brief, unbearable instant before the pain surged through her body so fiercely that her knees gave way beneath her.
Voices erupted around her as someone caught her before she struck the floor completely. One of the shell combs slipped from her hair and shattered against the stone, but Eira barely noticed.
When Eira opened her eyes again, evening light filled the room. Everything felt distant, muted, and heavy.
The pounding pain behind her eyes had faded, leaving only exhaustion in its place. For several moments she simply stared at the ceiling, trying to remember what had happened.
The dresses, the mirror, the shell combs, and then the pain. The memory returned all at once, and Eira inhaled sharply.
Movement beside the bed immediately drew her attention.
Leander sat in a chair near the window with an unopened book resting in his hands, and the moment he noticed she was awake, he set it aside.
"Good."
His voice was calm, perhaps a little too calm.
"How long?"
"A few hours."
Eira frowned.
"I fainted."
"Briefly."
The answer sounded suspiciously diplomatic.
She attempted to sit upright and immediately regretted it when the room shifted around her.
