My need for him was powerful and all-consuming. I needed him more than I needed air in my lungs. At that moment, I didn’t care who he was or what he represented.
It was just us.
I reached for the ties of his trousers, fingers trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the unbearable ache building inside me. Rowan let out a low groan as he leaned into my touch, pressing his forehead to mine.
“Are you sure?” he whispered, voice hoarse, eyes searching.
“Yes,” I breathed. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
After that, there were no more words—just breath and skin, touch and heat. When he entered me slowly, fully, I gasped, clinging to his shoulders, feeling everything at once: the pain, the beauty, the rush of being so completely known.
He kissed me through it, coaxed me into the rhythm. We were the embers of a fire that could burn for days. One I would gladly let burn for as long as possibleif given the time. However, we were constrained in our allotted freedom in this place.
When I finally gave in to the blaze, it felt like being shattered and remade in the same moment. Rowan followed soon after, collapsing against me with a quiet, reverent moan.
We lay tangled together in the stillness that followed, our bodies slick with sweat, chests rising and falling in unison. I traced idle circles on his shoulder, too dazed to move, too full of feeling to speak. I was afraid to move, scared of losing whatever the feeling in my chest was.
The silence between us wasn’t awkward—it was heavy with something unnamed. Something fragile and terrifying and precious.
I turned my head slightly, glimpsing his face in the dim light. His expression was soft, vulnerable in a way I’d never seen before.
“What happens now?” I whispered.
He didn’t answer right away. Just tightened his arm around me and pressed a kiss to the top of my head.
“Now we breathe,” he said. “Together.”
Chapter 46
“To protect is not always to speak.
To love is not always to hold.
Sometimes the greatest mercy is to remain silent and stay.”
- The Old Book
The Facility - Month 4
Asudden, sharp pain pierced my chest, stealing the breath from my lungs. The room rocked, and the brush slipped from my trembling fingers, clattering loudly onto the floor. Darkness swiftly enveloped me, swallowing me whole.
When I came to, I felt the cold, unforgiving floor beneath my cheek and heard a low, anxious whining beside me. Slowly, with considerable effort, I turned my head. Talia hovered close, eyes wide with panic, tears silently streaking down her pale cheeks. Her lips moved soundlessly—her voice having abandoned her entirely in recent days.
“Talia,” I rasped, weakly reaching out to grasp her trembling hand. “I’m okay.”
She nodded shakily, unconvinced, and continued to cling to my hand desperately, refusing to let go as I sat upright. Breathing had become painfully labored, each inhale feeling insufficient. The dull ache in my chest intensified, but I pushed the worry down, locking it away.
“See? I’m fine,” I murmured, though the lie tasted bitter.
After reassuring Talia enough to release me, I stood shakily and dressed for breakfast. Every movement was heavier than it should’ve been, each step toward the dining hall more taxing than the last.
As I entered the dining hall, a subtle but tangible shift in atmosphere hit me immediately—a heaviness hung in the air, thick with unease and sickness. Murmurs echoed softly, everyone speaking in low, subdued tones.
Marcum stood at the podium, his face unreadable as ever, voice coolly detached. He recited two names I barely recognized, the monotonous announcement underscoring the somber mood gripping everyone present.
My gaze instinctively swept the hall, searching among the scattered, weary faces for the one person I longed to see. For the third breakfast in a row, Rowan was nowhere to be found. The hollow ache of his absence clawed uncomfortably within me.
I barely touched my food before leaving, feeling suddenly too restless and uneasy to remain seated. My quarters would be quieter, a safer refuge from my troubling thoughts.
