“Ezren.” Her name sounded like a whispered prayer on his lips. Then he was reaching for her, and they were crashing together, his arms drawing her to him as she buried her face in his neck. Pure relief rushed through him, pulling his frayed edges back together, drowning him in euphoric peace. He clutched her to his chest, pressing his face in her hair, drinking in the warmth of her skin—trying to convince himself that she was real. This moment was real. They were alive—her touch rekindling his dying hope into a blazing fire.
