He pours antiseptic over the wound and she jerks, a low cry escaping her. I almost pull his hand away. Instead, I force myself to stay still, my jaw locked, my thumb rubbing slow circles over her knuckles.
“You’re hurting her,” I say quietly.
“Her wound is infected, sir,” Dr. Lars replies. “It’s the only way.”
I know he’s right. But knowing doesn’t make it easier.
Her body trembles. Her breathing hitches. And all I can do is hold her hand tighter, letting her squeeze until my own fingers ache.
“Almost done,” the doctor mutters.
When he finally finishes, the wound is clean, the bandage fresh. Her grip loosens, her arm falling back against the sheets. She’s trembling, lips parted, sweat glistening on her forehead.
“She’ll rest now,” Dr. Lars says softly, his tone cautious. “I’ve given her an injection for the infection and something for the fever. But she needs rest. And food.”
I don’t answer. I just stare at her. At the faint pulse fluttering in her throat. At the strands of hair clinging to her face. She looks so breakable, sohuman.I’ve seen a thousand people bleed. I’ve watched men die for less than a debt. But watching her suffer feels different, like something inside me is tearing.
I wipe the dampness from her temple with the edge of a clean towel, my hand steady even though everything inside me isn’t.
“Get out,” I say finally, my voice rough.
The doctor hesitates. “Sir?—”
“I said get out.”
He gathers his things and leaves without another word. Cesaro follows silently, closing the door behind them.
And then it’s just the two of us.
The firelight flickers across her skin, and for a long time, I just stand there, trying to breathe through the sound of my own heartbeat.
She stirs again, whispering my name like a question.
I sit beside the bed, elbows on my knees, watching her.
“You should’ve told me,” I murmur again, the words rougher now. “You don’t get to disappear too.”
Her lips part, a soft breath escaping. I can’t tell if she’s awake or dreaming.
I reach out, brushing my thumb gently across the back of her hand
“Rest, Elizabeth,” I murmur. “You’re safe now.”
But the truth is, I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince—her or myself.
Hours later her skin is still warm, but the fever’s beginning to break. Relief hits me like a wave, sharp and dizzying. My head drops into my hands.
Somewhere between the steady rhythm of her breathing and the crackle of the fire, I realize something I shouldn’t—something dangerous.
Losing Sienna broke me.
But losing Elizabeth might destroy me.
12
Birdie
I wake up not knowing where I’m at.
