Anton’s stomach swooped at the sight of him, whole and healed. He couldn’t speak, rooted to the spot, overwhelmed with the realization of how much he’d missed him. How much it had cost Anton to stay away.

“It’s good to see you back on your feet,” Hector said warmly, breaking the tense silence.

“Thank you,” Jude replied, flashing him a brief, tired smile. “If it’s all right with everyone, I’d like to talk to Anton alone.”

Anton heard the others filter out of the room, but his gaze remained trained on Jude. The moment felt fragile, like a snowflake that would melt on Anton’s fingers if he tried to touch it. Every part of him longed to cross the space between them. Yet he couldn’t move, couldn’t trust himself to take those last few steps without collapsing.

Hector lingered in the doorway, glancing at them warily. His hesitation rankled. Anton was grateful that Hector had helped them escape the citadel, but now part of him resented the fact that Hector was right back at Jude’s side, after everything he’d done to him. Even if Jude forgave him for it, Anton certainly hadn’t.

With a last warning glance, Hector retreated from the room, closing the door behind him.

The sound of the door closing broke Anton’s last shred of self-restraint. Between one breath and the next, he flung himself across the room, wrapping his arms around Jude and burying his face against his neck. He let out a shuddering breath. Jude was warm and solid in his arms, more intoxicating than any dream. Anton felt drunk with desperate, terrified relief. He’d known that Jude was all right after Ephyra healed him, but knowing it and believing it were two separate things. Only now, with Jude’s breath tickling his ear, did he feel the worry seep away.

“It’s you,” Jude said at last, his arms stiff at his sides as Anton clung to him. “It’s really—” He cut himself off with a ragged breath. “I thought I was dreaming.”

His voice sounded quiet and far away, like it had when Anton had found him being tortured by the Witnesses. He still hadn’t moved, hadn’t returned Anton’s embrace, and for the first time since laying eyes on him, broken and bloodied on the floor, doubt crept behind Anton’s ribs.

He pulled back, searching Jude’s face. “It’s really me.”

Jude didn’t meet his gaze, his brow furrowing. “I knew you were alive. I—I felt it. Hector and Hassan didn’t believe me. Hector said…” Jude stopped, seeming to gather himself. “He said if you were alive, that you would’ve found us. Scried for us—for me.”