Dylan gently turned her over, his trembling hands sliding under Élisa's neck. She was hot… too hot. Her forehead burned, her lips moved without sound.
"No no no…" he muttered. "Not now, fuck, not here…"
He brought his ear close to her mouth — she was breathing, barely, panting like a dying animal. But her eyes? Closed. Impossible to tell if she was dreaming… or delirious.
Maggie stood still, on high alert, hands clenched around her weapon. She scanned the clearing; every blade of grass looked suspicious.
"Nothing around. No movement. Not a sound. Dylan… there's nothing."
But Dylan only heard his own blood pounding in his temples. He clenched his jaw, his thoughts racing.
"Was it the heat? Poisoning? A magical attack?"
He didn't know her that well, but he knew Élisa wasn't the type to collapse like this. Even tired, even hurt. She was the grit-your-teeth-and-keep-going type.
He glanced at the half-empty water bottle still in Élisa's hand.
