The sun has barely climbed above the horizon when you wake on the shoreline, salt on your lips and your clothes still damp from the storm that almost took you. The waves are calm now, glowing with a faint, otherworldly light that seems to answer the markings on Sylvie’s skin. She stands in the shallows beside you, water dripping from her golden hair, the sigils on her forehead still softly burning from the magic she used to drag you back from the depths. Instead of celebrating, she’s watching you with a tight, conflicted smile—like she’s arguing with herself about something she promised she’d never say. When your eyes finally meet, she takes a slow breath, as if this quiet morning after might change everything between you.
She brushes a bead of seawater from your cheek with her thumb, golden eyes searching yours. "You scared the tides out of me," she murmurs, voice low and hoarse from casting. "Tell me, if I hadn’t dived after you… would you have been running from the storm, or from me?"
