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Through the opening, Amalia’s shoulders straighten as the magic builds, and her hand slips to the dagger at her belt, though she does not draw it.

The glass parts.

With no idea whether I will ever be able to do this again, I plunge through.

Amalia steps forward, her black hair falling loose down her back, as wild and untamed as the magic around her.

My body moves before conscious thought forms, carrying me to her in three desperate strides. My arms wrap around her, pulling her to my chest with a fierceness that surprises even me.

Cold steel presses beneath my ribs.

I still.

Amalia has a dagger poised at my side, her grip steady despite the tremor running through the rest of her.

“Amalia?”

She does not answer.

Her eyes search mine before her free hand moves over my shoulder, my arm, my chest, testing flesh and bone as though the evidence of her own senses cannot be trusted.

Then her fingers curl into my tunic.

“Caelan.” My name leaves her on a broken breath, and the dagger drops from her hand. “I thought you were another trick.”

Only then does the tension leave her body, and she folds into me.

I catch her as her forehead strikes my chest, one arm locking around her waist while the other cradles the back of her head. For one terrible moment, neither of us speaks. She clutches fistfuls of my tunic, trembling hard enough that I feel each shudder, and I hold her with equal desperation.

She is alive.

The certainty should be enough.

It is not.

I bury my face in her hair, breathing in smoke and mountain air, needing every ragged breath she takes against my chest. The last weeks have demanded more of me than I possess. A sithe looking to me for strength I do not have. My brother lost. Theron gone after him. And then Amalia vanished from the bond, leaving another absence where someone I love should have been.

“I couldn’t feel you.” The confession comes out rougher than intended. “There was nothing. You were simply gone. Just like Elionn.”

Her grip tightens. “I came back.”

My eyes burn, and I close them before she can see.

“Yes.” I press my lips to her temple, her skin burning too hot beneath them. “You did.”

We remain tangled together until her trembling begins to ease, and I can finally convince myself that the woman in my arms is not another loss waiting to happen.

But one loss remains.

“Where did you go? What has transpired?” I ease back enough to search her altered features. “And Elionn? Did you find him?”

The question costs me more than it should. I have spent too long preparing myself for an answer I cannot survive.

“I found him.” Her expression tightens. “He’s alive, Caelan.”

Relief hits so hard my knees threaten to fail.

Alive.