This isn’t an itch.
It isn’t biology.
I want her.
And that is terrifying.
I turn the water off. Towel dry. My hands are steady again, but my mind is reeling.
I put on the clean jeans and T-shirt Cassie bought me. They fit, which means she noticed my size. She pays attention.
I walk back into the room.
It’s dark. Cassie is asleep in the center of the massive bed.
I should sleep on the floor. Or the chair.
But the floor is hard. And my ribs are screaming.
And she left space.
I walk to the bed. Sit on the edge.
“I’m awake,” she whispers.
“Go back to sleep.”
“The floor looks uncomfortable.”
“I’ve slept on worse.”
“Just get in, Halo. We already shared a foil blanket in the dirt. This is an upgrade.”
I hesitate.
I slide under the covers.
I stay on the edge. As far from her as possible. Back to her. Gun on the nightstand.
“Goodnight,” I say.
“Goodnight.”
Silence.
The mattress shifts.
She scoots across the expanse of white linen and presses her back against mine.
Warmth. Solid. Real.
“Just for warmth,” she whispers.
“Right,” I say. “Thermodynamics.”
“Exactly.”
She settles. Her breathing evens out.
