Page 25 of A Sunwoven Ascent

“Heidara,” he murmured, voice low. “You should eat something. Or at least—”

“Get out.”

The words were sharp enough to slice. Beau froze. His mouth parted as if he’d expected anger, not… this. Not the rawness that made Heidara’s voice tremble.

“Heidara, I’m just trying—”

“I said get out.” She didn’t look at him. Her eyes didn’t leave Alaric. “If you want to help, stand outside and keep breathing where I don’t have to listen to it.”

The Glaciermaw wolves did not react, though one shifted his weight in the smallest hint of warning. Beau’s jaw flexed once. Then he gave a tight, wounded nod and stepped back. The door closed behind him with a soft finality that felt far louder than it should have in the hush that followed.

Evelyne let out a slow breath and turned to Cillian.

He sat opposite her on the edge of a creaking chair, shoulders bent forward, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. The bruises at his throat looked darker in the daylight, stark against his fair skin. Yet his eyes were clearer than they had been in days. Focused. There was a steadiness in him she was not accustomed to seeing, one she thought she may have witnessed only once before, when he had been fully absorbed in one of those curious scientific books he loved.

He watched Alaric for a long moment before speaking.

“I can help him.”

Evelyne’s entire body went rigid as his words dropped over her like ice water. “No.”

Cillian’s gaze flicked to hers. He didn’t flinch. “Evelyne—”

“No.” She kept her voice low for Heidara’s sake, for Alaric’s sake, but it came out like steel anyway. “You nearly died the last time you used that light. I felt you burning. I watched you—”

“I know,” he said firmly. “I know what it did to me, and I’m not claiming I can fix him. But I might be able to help.” His eyes flicked toward the bed. “It could hurt, yes. Leaving him like this will hurt too. All of us.”

She hated that he was making sense. “You do not even know if it will work,” she whispered.

“No.” He swallowed. “But I have an idea. Or at least the shape of one.” He rubbed his palms together, as if grounding himself. “When I let the light out all at once, it nearly consumes me. It is too much, too fast. So what if I don’t let it out that way?”

Evelyne stared at him. “What are you saying?”

Cillian drew a breath. “What if I pull it out in pieces? Small fragments, not the whole darkness at once. Just enough to ease the pressure. Just enough to give him room to breathe. To be himself.”

Evelyne’s heart struck hard against her ribs. “You speak as though darkness in a soul can be drawn out like a splinter from flesh.”

“I’m talking about trying,” Cillian said quietly. “Carefully… slowly.”

Her hands curled in her lap as every fierce instinct in her rose at once, urging her to shield him, to put herself between him and anything that might hurt him again. He was her brother. Her responsibility. The softest part of her in a world that had proven, again and again, how cruel it could be.

“And when you finally let it out?” she demanded. “How do you control that? How do you make it come slowly? What happens if it turns on you? If it consumes you instead?”

Cillian’s mouth hardened into a line. “Then you stop me. However you must. At once. And we do not try again until we understand more.” He held her gaze. “I am not offering certainty. I am offering a chance to bring our friend back.”

Evelyne opened her mouth to argue, to break that fragile chance into safer pieces, to insist that being alive mattered more than being brave.

Then came a broken inhale, like a sob swallowed before it could fully form. She turned and saw Heidara standing, face gone still, hands clenched into fists at her sides. Tears trembled on her lashes as she stared at Alaric.

“Please,” she said quietly.

Cillian looked to her and blinked.

“Please,” she said again, finally dragging her gaze from Alaric. “I need him back. I need him… I need him to be himself. Just once more. Just long enough to look at me and know me.”

The break in Heidara’s voice struck deep in Evelyne’s chest.

Cillian’s shoulders sagged, as though something in him gave way at the sound. “I’ll try,” he said. “I cannot promise anything, but… I’ll try.”