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For a moment, Jayce doesn’t really move. He lies, still, as the world spins harder, the pads of his fingers probing at the fabric beneath them; silken sheets—ah, a bed then.
A kaleidoscope of memories shivers in his mind, like static, materializing in front of his eyes as he blinks again. And again. The sharp smell of iron clings to his senses, gun-powder reaching across a deep, star-tainted blueness. The celestial humming of agony, two souls like liquid gold pouring into the same chalice. The pain. The grief.“Viktor!”
Jayce sits up with a cry; it’s punched, reaped from his chest. He almost tumbles from the bed. There’s a hammer inside his skull, and with every new flicker of cosmic pull, it falls and crashes against the nerves behind his eyes; the base of his neck, the back of his teeth. It rings, and rings, an earthquake, and thunders through his bones with a shattering force and—
Someone knocks on the door.
“Jayce?”
The voice is steady, calm—unmistakable.
Viktor.
________
Jayce gets one more chance to get back to him. To fix it.
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