Elysia wasn't sure what she was doing.
Her mind, still groggy with exhaustion, struggled to process what had just happened—what she had just done.
Her fingers, still curled loosely around Malvoria's hand, felt oddly warm. Solid.
She had grabbed Malvoria without thinking.
Why?
Why had she done that?
Her body had moved before her mind could catch up, acting on instinct rather than reason. But what instinct? There was no logic in this—no reason for her to hold onto Malvoria, to keep her from leaving.
And yet, she hadn't let go.
Her grip was light, hesitant, as if her own touch had startled herself.
Malvoria, for once, didn't immediately pull away either.
The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, as if the very air in the room had shifted.
Elysia's mind raced.
She should release her.
She should let go.
But she didn't.
She didn't because, for some infuriating, illogical reason—
She didn't want to.
