She’d stayed at his side.
She’d fetched water when he needed it and held cool cloths to Jessa’s forehead. She’d watched with fierce concentration as he’d ground herbs and mixed poultices. When he’d explained what he was doing and why, she’d listened with the intensity of a healer’s apprentice, asking sharp questions and remembering the answers.
She’d trusted him to save her sister. She’d put her faith in a Vultor exile, a creature most humans would flee from screaming, and never once wavered.
That trust had nearly broken him.
“You should be sleeping,” he said gently.
“So should you.” Dani came to stand beside him, her small hand finding his larger one. Her fingers were cold. “You haven’t slept at all.”
“I’m keeping watch.”
“I can watch for a while. You could rest.”
“No.” The word came out sharper than he intended. He softened it with a breath. “Thank you, little one. But I need to be here.”
Dani studied him with those too-old eyes. “You really love her, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said quietly.
“Good.” Dani squeezed his hand. “She loves you too, you know.”
“She said that?”
“She says lots of things when she thinks I’m not paying attention.” Dani smiled—a ghost of her usual brightness, dimmed by exhaustion but still there. “I pay attention.”
“A dangerous habit.”
“Mama always said knowing things was power.” Her smile faltered slightly at the mention of her mother, then steadied. “I think she would have liked you.”
He had no response to that. He simply held Dani’s hand and watched Jessa breathe, and let the silence speak for itself.
Eventually, Dani yawned.
“Go back to bed,” he said. “I’ll call you if anything changes.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
She nodded, satisfied, and padded back to her small room. He heard her settle into her blankets and her breathing slow towards sleep.
Then he was alone with Jessa again, with the weight of everything he hadn’t yet said.
Dawn crept through the den’s entrance in pale fingers of light, chasing away the shadows of night. He had dozed fitfully in the chair beside the bed, jerking awake at every small sound, but true sleep had eluded him.
Jessa woke up with the sun.
Her eyes fluttered open slowly, confusion giving way to recognition as she registered where she was. When her gaze found him, her expression turned soft and warm.
“You’re still here.”
“Where else would I be?”
“Sleeping. Eating. Taking care of yourself.” She struggled to sit up, wincing as the movement pulled at her injured ankle. “How long have you been in that chair?”
“Long enough.” He rose and moved to help her, adjusting pillows behind her back, and tucking furs around her legs. His hands lingered on the task longer than necessary. “How do you feel?”
