“What’s wrong, Alira?” Korin asks sleepily as she rubs her eyes. I glance over at her, trying not to grin at the messy brown locks of hair strewn over her face. I breathe out slowly and press my palm to the fading ache in my chest. Gods, he didn’t hold anything back that time, did he? I muse grumpily. At least he kills swiftly. Not once have I suffered too much from his death blow. “Nothing, just a bad dream,” I say routinely.
