"Where would I go."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
My thumb traces her jawline. Slow. Feeling the bone beneath the skin. The warmth. The way her breath catches—just barely, just a flutter—when I touch her.
"You just watched me kill someone."
"Yes."
"You're still touching me."
"Yes."
"Why."
She's quiet for a long moment. Her hands finish with mine. Set the cloth aside. But she doesn't step back. Doesn't put distance between us.
"Because I've been waiting my whole life for someone who'd kill for me instead of selling me."
I don't have a response. Don't have anything except the blood still under my fingernails and her pulse jumping under my thumb and the way she's looking at me like I'm not a monster.
"Coin knows." Because I don't know what else to say. "They'll come for you."
"I know."
"War is coming."
"I know."
"I'm not letting you go."
Her mouth curves. Just barely.
"I know."
My hand is still on her jaw. Her pulse is still jumping. Neither of us moves.
Coin knows. They'll come. I'll kill every single one of them.
She saw what I am.
She stayed.
His eyes are open.
That's the first thing. Not where I am or what time it is or why my ribs feel like someone's been using them for practice. Just—his eyes. On me. White and patient and waiting, and my brain hasn't caught up yet but my body already knows something's wrong.
Too close. He's too close. Sitting on the edge of the bed with one knee drawn up, head tilted, watching me with an expression that makes my stomach go tight.
How long has he been—
"Morning," I say. My voice comes out wrecked.
His mouth curves. Barely. "You talk in your sleep."
"I do not."
