Without him magnetizing my attention, I notice details about the room I've missed until now. A basin of fresh water by the bedside table. A set of clean clothes and underwear folded neatly at the foot of the bed that look like they've been brought from my own room. A plate with bread and fruit beneath a cloth.

I test my limbs carefully. The bone-deep exhaustion has lifted somewhat, replaced by a dull ache and lingering weakness. Still, it's progress from yesterday. My body is purging the last of the void magic I cleansed from Raith. Other than the occasional flash of cold sweeping across me, I think the worst of it has nearly passed already.

"You heal quickly," Typhon observes. "Another benefit of your unbound nature, I suspect. Or perhaps it's because of your unique manifestation."

"Or maybe it's just spite," I mutter, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. "Too stubborn to stay down."

"Spite is an undervalued motivator," Typhon agrees. “If not for spite, I may have let the madness fully take me long ago. The call to submit… it is deep and terrible. I fear there could be nothing left in the other ancients if you eventually cleanse them.”

I frown. As much as I want to help them, the idea of facing more gigantic murderous elementals feels like more than I can fit on my plate at the moment. Problems for another day, maybe.

I reach for the water, drinking deeply. The cool liquid soothes my throat, washing away the last remnants of the nightmare. Or vision. Or whatever it was. The memory of the scream lingers, raising goosebumps along my arms despite the room's comfortable temperature.

The door opens, and Raith enters, carrying more food and a stack of books under one arm. His eyes immediately find mine, relief flashing across his features before he schools his expression into something more neutral. I see disapproval when he notices the still-full basket of fruit and bread by the bed.

"You should be eating. You need to regain your strength."

"I just woke up."

He nods, though he still doesn't seem pleased as he sets down his books on the desk. He sets down the second basket of food beside the first and gestures. "Eat."

"I'm not really hungry."

"I don't remember asking. You need to eat."

Reluctantly, I pluck a few grapes from the basket and pop one into my mouth, chewing. "Happy?"

"I'll be happy when you finish everything I brought." He moves around the room with practiced efficiency, but I notice the way his gaze keeps returning to me, as if he's afraid I might injure myself while reclining in his bed and reaching for occasional bites of food.

His bed.

A question strikes me. "Where have you been sleeping while I've been hogging your bed?"

He gestures to a blanket on the hard stone floor I hadn’t noticed.