He is wrestling to keep his composure. Her own tension is rising, but her voice stays gentle, more coaxing than command.

She takes a breath and continues, inexorable. (All of this is for nothing if the words are not said correctly, in the correct order, within enough time.)

"Daybreak."

Each word is soft and precise, like tugging petals from a flower. He is struggling now, pain and fear and hope all warring with each other as he frowns, as he shakes, his gaze steady on the fire.

She continues. It is the kindest thing she can do. "Furnace."