Something in my chest feels too big for a room this small.
I roll onto my side and look down at him.
Sin lies on his back on the blanket, eyes open, staring at the ceiling like sleep is something he doesn’t trust. Firelight throws shadows across his face, sharpens every hard line, makes him look carved out of darkness and heat.
I shouldn’t think that.
The worst night of my life, and my brain still wants to turn it into a story.
A story where the man who saved me might also be the man who ruins me.
I swallow. “Sin.”
His gaze cuts to me instantly. “Yeah.”
“You’re not sleeping.”
His mouth tightens. “You should.”
“I can’t,” I whisper. “Not with you on the floor.”
His eyes stay on mine. “Ruby.”
“I mean it,” I say, pushing myself up. “Every time you move, I jolt.”
Sin goes very still.
The air changes.
“Come up here,” I say.
He looks at me like he’s measuring the risk.
Not to me.
To himself.
“I shouldn’t,” he says, voice low.
“Why?”
His jaw flexes. His gaze drops to my face, then my mouth, then away again like he’s forcing it.
“Because you don’t know what you’re asking.”
My cheeks warm. “I’m asking you to sleep.”
His eyes snap back to mine, and the intensity there makes my skin prickle.
“Ruby,” he says, voice rough, “you looked at me in that room like you were drowning. I’m still trying to forget it.”
My breath catches.
I swallow. “I trust you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I trust you,” I repeat, and my voice breaks on the last word.
