Page 128 of The Moonborn's Curse

The soft weight of the blanket over her chest.

Then her gaze found his.

Recognition bloomed—sudden and warm.

She smiled.

Just a small thing, tired and instinctive, curling at the edges of her lips like dawn breaking across a stormy sky.

But it vanished almost as quickly.

The memory rushed in.

Lia. The blood. The bond. The lies.

The smile collapsed, folding in on itself like a dying star.

What replaced it was not anger.

Just nothing.

She didn't pull away when he tentatively touched his finger to hers.

Her lips parted, voice a raspy whisper.

"Water."

Hagan jolted to his feet like she'd shouted.

He crossed the room in three strides, grabbing the glass the healer had left on the side table. His hands trembled as he returned, crouching beside her.

"Here," he murmured, gently tilting the glass toward her mouth.

She let him for a moment—lips brushing the rim, swallowing slowly, eyes half-closed.

Then, with a quiet inhale, she lifted her hand.

"I can take it," she said, barely audible.

He hesitated.

Then surrendered the glass.

Her fingers didn't brush his. She made sure of it. Took it from the bottom, careful and deliberate, her touch avoiding his as if he might burn her.

And he felt it—like a physical ache. That careful distance. That instinctive withdrawal.

She finished the water and set the glass on the bed table with a soft clink.

Their eyes met again. Placid grey to cloudy blue rimmed with red.

Time stretched like a rubber band pulled too tight, ready to snap.

Hagan swallowed hard. "Seren... I didn't mean—what happened with Lia—when she touched me, it was like a fog. Everything she said seemed right. And she looked—like something out of a dream. I don't know why—"

"Stop." Her voice was quiet but sharp. "I don't want to know how you feel about Lia. Can you at least do this much for me? Do I need to hear this?"

He fell silent.

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