I huff, and the breath mists at my face.
We might be indoors, but the cold in the cellblock seems chillier than it did outside on the farm. And it’s nipping at me.
Finally, Samick tosses the rag down to the floor, then throws his legs onto the mattress.
I wobble.
On a single bed that’s barely big enough for me, he lies down. But as he does, he snatches out for me—and takes me with him.
Before the back of his head has even hit the pillow, he’s clutched my ankle and jerked it hard enough that I’m swiped out of the corner—
And I’m suddenly flat on my back.
Not comfortably, either.
My shoulders are wedged between the concrete wall and his stone body.
He might not be as huge as Arwyn, the walking tree trunk, but he’s large enough that his other shoulder is off the bed, and I can’t move a muscle.
I give an annoyed grunt before I drape one leg over the other, sort of crossed, and shift on the creaky mattress, hoping to find a tolerable spot.
But I’m aware of too much.
The coils in the mattress; the even breaths from Mika still plunged into sleep; the creak of the bunk as Shark rolls over then kicks off his boots that thud to the floor.
Samick folds his hands under his head. He hikes one leg and shuts his eyes.
It startles me.
I pause mid-turn, my spine all twisted, and stare blankly at him.
Samick just shuts his eyes, like he’s about to fall asleep. And the sight of it—it makes me realise, I’ve never seen him actually sleep before.
Lashes low, I side-eye him.
The cloth he wiped over his face didn’t do a great job, not like the shower he took before waking me for my own. There’s a smear of red over his jawline, a streak of dirt on his brow, and dried dark crimson staining some strands of his soft blond hair.
I should be flooded with loathing.
Just the sight of his peaceful, sharp profile should stir the ugliest, darkest bloodlust in my gut. Hot, uncontrollable rage.
But I just feel…
I don’t really know.
I don’t feel hollow. There’s something there, stirring in me, but what it is, I can’t say.
As if feeling my stare on him, a curt breath fogs at his pink lips, and his lashes lift.
He slides a cold look to me.
I narrow my stare right back at him.
The silent accusation stirs in my glare.
But Samick is entirely unfazed by it.
There’s a fatigue to his voice, like he’s spent the last scrap of energy he had in him and can’t stay awake another moment, “Be quiet.”
