I wake to the sound of two heartbeats.
They are not side by side. They are layered. One is the steady, grounding rhythm of my own chest; the other is a deeper, resonant thrum that vibrates through my very bones. It takes a moment for my fogged mind to realize that the second heartbeat is not my own. It is Kade’s.
I do not need to open my eyes to know he is awake. I can feel his consciousness brushing against mine, a gentle, warm presence that feels less like a separate mind and more like a new limb I have just learned to move. There is no friction, no delay. When he feels the cool air of the medical room on his skin, I feel it too. When my stomach tightens with the lingering ache of channeling the earth’s consciousness, his jaw clenches in shared sympathy.
We are merged.
The word feels
