Ash's POV —
The tension in the SUV hadn't broken—it had simply changed shape.
It sat heavy in the air, no longer razor-edged panic but something thicker, darker. A crushing weight of fragile relief wrapped in dread. They had found her. She was here. Breathing.
But she still hadn't woken up.
Ash sat in the backseat, unmoving, every muscle locked as if releasing even a fraction of tension would shatter him. His arms were wrapped around Opal's limp body, her head resting beneath his chin. He held her like she was already slipping away, as if the strength of his grip alone could keep her tethered to the world.
She looked dead.
Too pale. Her skin like snow, drained of color, her lips faintly blue. Her silver hair clung to her face in damp, tangled strands. She'd always been small—barely five feet to his six-foot-four—but now she felt impossibly light. Wrong. Empty in a way that made his stomach twist.
Her breathing was too quiet.
