He dragged a hand through his hair and turned sharply, as if expecting the walls to argue with him.
“They’re amassing,” he muttered to no one. “He says it plain as daylight.”
The door opened quietly.
Maxwell did not turn. He knew the sound of that step. He felt it before he heard it.
“Maxwell.”
Her voice stopped him more effectively than any command.
He closed his eyes once, slow, and forced himself to breathe before he turned.
Ariella stood just inside the door, wrapped in her nightgown and a light robe, hair loose over her shoulders, eyes dark with worry. She looked like she had come straight from sleep and found none of it waiting for her.
“Ye’re awake,” he said.
“So are ye,” she replied softly.
“This is nae —” He cut himself off and laughed without humor. “I am nae good company.”
She stepped further into the room anyway and shut the door behind her. “I didn’t come for company.”
He watched her cross the chamber, every movement careful, as if approaching a wild animal that might bolt or bite. She stopped in front of him, close enough that he could smell her. Clean linen. The faint trace of lavender. Home.
“Why are ye pacing?” she asked.
“I told ye,” he said, sharper than he meant to. “It’s nothin’.”
Her brows drew together. “Ye are terrible at lying.”
He huffed. “So I’ve been told.”
She reached for him before he could turn away. Both hands came to rest on his forearms, warm and steady. The contact sent a jolt through him, startling in its immediacy.
“Stand still,” she murmured.
“I daenae —”
“Maxwell,” she said, firmer now. “Please.”
He let the glass slip from his fingers onto the table. It sloshed but did not spill. His arms were still tense beneath her hands, cords of muscle drawn tight with restraint.
She moved her hands slowly, deliberately, up and down his arms, as if smoothing something rough back into place.
“Breathe,” she said quietly. “With me.”
He resisted for exactly one heartbeat. Then his breath stuttered out, and he drew another in, deeper this time.
Again.
Her hands did not stop moving.
“What happened?” she asked, voice low and calm in a way that made his chest ache.
He swallowed. “Hunter wrote.”
Her fingers paused, then resumed their slow path. “Is he hurt?”
