Joke’s on him. I didn’t wear any of that lingerie they bought me.
I’m bare naked underneath.
“Thanks,” I mutter. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”
He takes half a step closer, and suddenly, all that warmth from before twists into steel.
“You should’ve sent for me,” he says. “The second you opened your eyes. Told Nathaniel to fetch me.”
I blink.
“I… That’s… I’ll remember it for next time.”
“There will be no next time.”
The finality in his tone makes the walls feel smaller.
Oh, boy.
Is this where I tell him there might be a next time?
But then I see his eyes.
Not the fury. The fear behind it.
And suddenly, all I do is nod.
Without another word, he extends his arm, like he’s escorting me into a ballroom instead of a busted-up hospital mess hall. I look at it, then back at his face. The Cassian I know is not a gentleman.
“You practicing for some Regency-era reenactment or something?”
His mouth twitches. “Just take it.”
So I do.
The moment my hand wraps around his forearm, his muscles shift, taut under the fabric, and there’s that faint, grounding pressure of his grip.
Warm. Surprisingly kind.Mine.
“When I woke up earlier, I could barely walk to the bathroom without face-planting,” I tell him as we start forward together. “Now I’m at least semi-functional.”
We turn the corner.
It doesn’t surprise me that the whole place has gone back to normal. Cartons makeshifting for walls are no more, the floor is so clean it’s shiny, and all the beds that were put together so we could camp from the wraith have gone back to their respective places in the hospital.
“Nathaniel should have never left you alone like that,” Cassian says, as Nathaniel looks up from a sofa across the room. He’s sitting with a big book on his lap.
“Nathaniel thought Skye could use some privacy,” Nathaniel counters smoothly. His voice is like buttered milk. A little bit sweet, a little bit balmy and perpetually belonging into the realm of the late evenings and cozy winter blankets. “If you had it your way, she wouldn’t have any.”
“Well, we wouldn’t know what she preferred,” Cassian counters, jaw tight. “You didn’t ask her.”
The muscle under my palm goes rigid.
“It’s okay,” I say, putting my other hand on his forearm and stroking it gently. “I think I needed a little time alone with my head. And honestly? I doubt I was in danger of anything worse than tripping over my own feet.”
Death didn’t take me back into the afterlife. The guys don’t know why like I do, but the moment my heart restarted on its own during the second day of unconsciousness, the outcome was sealed. Death wanted me to stay.
My gaze lifts before I can stop it, and I look up at Cassian just in time to see his eyes fixated on the hand I still have resting on his arm. His breathing stills. Slowly, deliberately, his stare travels up to meet mine, and when our eyes lock, he swallows. Hard.
