DYER The first thing I register is warmth.

Not the sharp, burning kind that comes with pain, but something steadier, something anchoring. Arms around me. A heartbeat pressed close enough that I can feel its rhythm fighting to keep pace with mine.

Aislyn.

I don’t let go of her.

Not when the medics hover uncertainly at the edge of my vision. Not when Bodie kneels beside us, relief written openly across his face. Not even when someone mutters about stretchers and wounds and the fact that I ...