Jora huffed softly, shaking her head at his attempt at humor, though there was a faint twitch of a smile on her lips despite herself. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” she murmured, kneeling beside the bed and carefully unwrapping one of the bandages to inspect the worst of the damage. Her fingers were gentle but precise, tracing along the cuts and bruises to assess which needed stitches, which just needed cleaning and dressing.

“You’re heavy,” she admitted quietly, rolling her eyes at him, but there was no real annoyance in her tone. She carefully helped him sit up, supporting his back as she adjusted the pillows so he wasn’t straining himself. Her touch was steady, grounding, letting him know he didn’t have to worry about anything else right now.

Her gaze softened as she examined his injuries. “I think we can manage without stitches for most of it,” she said after a moment, brushing her fingers lightly over his jaw and cheek. “A few of these are deep, though. We’ll clean them well, keep them bandaged tight, and keep an eye on them.” She paused, her eyes flicking briefly toward the door. “And then we’ll figure out how to handle the rest… the bodies, the mess outside. But not now. Not while Lyra is asleep. I don’t want her getting a glimpse of this.”

Her thumb stroked the side of his hand, a quiet reassurance. “You focus on staying still. Let me do the work. That’s all you need to worry about.” Her voice was soft but firm, leaving no room for argument, and he could feel the determination radiating off her.

Jora’s hands worked carefully, methodically, cleaning and bandaging each injury, murmuring little instructions for him to stay calm and still as she went. She caught his sheepish grin and shook her head again, softer this time, letting herself smile just a fraction. “I’ll laugh at your jokes later,” she said quietly. “Right now, I’ve got to make sure my family is whole.”

Her eyes softened, lingering on him for just a moment, before returning to the task at hand. She was methodical, deliberate, and protective, making sure every bandage was secure, every cut cleaned, and every bruised spot tended to—because she couldn’t let anything else hurt him, not while she had him here, not while Lyra was still safe in the next room.

Jora had known the moment he stirred again.

Not because he made much noise—Sage rarely did when he was trying not to worry anyone—but because the house felt different when he was awake. Less brittle. Less like everything might shatter if she breathed wrong.

She was in the other room with her mother and Selene, voices kept deliberately low, Lyra tucked away and distracted where she wouldn’t see or hear anything she couldn’t unlearn. Jora had one hand wrapped around a mug she’d long since forgotten to drink from, the other gesturing quietly as she explained what still needed to be done, what had already been handled, what she hadn’t let herself fully think about yet.

“…he’s healing,” Jora murmured, voice steady through sheer will. “Better than I expected. He’s stubborn.” A faint, tired smile ghosted across her mouth at that. “Won’t stay down.”

It was almost on cue that she felt it—that subtle shift again. Footsteps. Uneven. Familiar.

Her head snapped toward the doorway just as Sage appeared there, leaning on the wall like it was the only thing keeping him upright. For half a heartbeat, all the air left her lungs.

“Sage,” she hissed under her breath, already moving.

She crossed the room in seconds, hand coming up to his chest before he could say a word, steadying him, grounding him. Her touch was firm but careful, eyes scanning him instinctively—posture, color, pupils, breath. Relief hit her in a slow, heavy wave when she realized he really did look better.

“You should not be up,” she muttered, though there was no real heat in it. Just concern. Raw and unhidden. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

Still, she didn’t push him back right away. Her palm stayed against him, thumb brushing lightly as if to reassure herself he was solid, that he wasn’t about to vanish if she blinked.

“Healing looks good,” she added more quietly, glancing back toward her mother and Selene, who had both gone still at the sight of him. “Told you he’d wake when he felt ready,” she said to them, though her gaze never left Sage for long.

She leaned in then, forehead briefly touching his shoulder, voice dropping so only he could hear. “I’ve got things under control out here,” she murmured. “Lyra’s safe. She hasn’t seen anything she shouldn’t. And you—” her fingers tightened just a fraction “—are not allowed to prove how tough you are today.”

Finally, gently, she nudged him back toward the wall, angling her body so he could lean on her instead.

Then, quieter still, fierce and unwavering beneath the calm: “Now let me take care of you a little longer.”