It's not the first time he's awakened her this way, but the flicker of guilt and shame is no less for it in this moment, even knowing that he is not to blame for his mind's war wounds. He does not fight her hand seeking out his own, and under her hand the muscles and tendons of his arm taut with anticipation for a battle that is not here, his body slow to relax its readiness.

He can see her face in the flashes of light that come through the window, her lack of fear as much an anchor as the hand in his own, keeping him from coming unmoored in the afterimages of the nightmare. Amelia would not be so calm if Asvera was truly in danger. Again, he looks to the window and sees nothing but small glinting lights in the dark, shining steadily under power, with no flicker of fire.

"Everyone is safe," he says, as much to convince himself as seeking her confirmation. He can't make himself move to sit, not yet, though he shifts his weight on his feet toward her, and his hand grasps hers a little more tightly.