Jason let Ylva cry into his neck for a long time.
He didn't move. He didn't crack a joke. He just held her while she shook, her fingers knotted in what was left of his shirt. When she finally pulled back to glare at him, he wiped her cheek with his thumb.
"You were dead," she said.
"Mostly dead. There's a difference."
"I felt you go cold through the bond. I don't care about the difference."
Behind her, Mae was sobbing openly into her hands. Tauriel had gone very still, as if she didn't trust what she was seeing.
"I'm sorry," Jason said. "I'm really, really sorry."
"Don't apologise." Ylva sniffed hard. "Just don't ever do it again."
"I'll put it on the list of things I'm trying to cut back on."
Ylva punched his arm, weakly, and didn't let go of his shirt. He reached back, pulled the stumps of ice out of his shoulder and side with two wet crunches, and felt the wounds close as the Marrow's healing finally took hold.
Then he looked at her properly, and his blood went cold.
