True to Eurus’s word, Dominik wakes up around 10 minutes later. His eyes flutter open and roam around the room, trying to understand what happened. He sits up, pressing a hand to the side of his head, and then looks over at me.
“What happened?” he asks.
“It doesn’t matter,” I answer. I try to look him in the eyes, but the memory of glowing fury comes back to me. I look down at my hands instead. “We should go home.”
He continues to look around the room, gathering information. Finally, when he starts to remember where he is, I can see that same anger growing. His face wrinkles, his hands ball up, his eyes begin to flash like fire.
“Where is that little—” he starts.
I place a hand on his arm, grabbing his attention. “I’m tired. Please, can we go home?”
His body stiffens and then relaxes. He reaches a hand out and gently touches my hair, running his fingers through it. “So be it,” he whispers.