I woke up to the quiet, heavy air of the penthouse, my body sore from being curled up on the couch all night. My neck ached, and my back protested when I tried to straighten up. But it didn’t matter. The only thing that did was the man beside me, still breathing, still here.
Mark was still asleep, his face pale and drawn. His shoulder was wrapped up in the bandages I'd clumsily put together last night, stained with dark patches of dried blood. Guilt gnawed at me again, sinking its claws deeper.
I sat up carefully, trying not to jostle him. My legs were stiff, and I had to press my hands to my knees just to stand. My eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. It was almost noon. We’d been out of it for hours.
Mark shifted slightly, a low groan escaping his throat. I froze, my breath catching
