A R I A
Lucian sits at the edge of the chair like he doesn’t trust himself to lean back. His hand wraps around mine, warm and steady, like an anchor. He studies me for a long time, eyes tracing every part of my face—as if checking that I’m still here, still breathing.
“You look…” he starts, then winces. “I don’t know what you look like. I just—I’m glad you’re okay.”
“I don’t know if I am,” I admit quietly. “But I’m alive.”
His jaw tightens. “That’s what matters. That you’re alive.”
He says it like he’s reminding himself.
I squeeze his hand. “You saved me.”
He shakes his head. “Oliver and I got there just in time. Barely. If we’d been five minutes later—”
“You weren’t,” I interrupt. “You were right on time.”
He swallows hard, eyes dark. “I can’t stop seeing it. You on the floor. Th
