Hope's POV.
The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of a single lamp next to the bed. The curtains are drawn to keep out the intruding daylight. I lie curled up on the bed, my hair still damp from the much-needed shower, my body wrapped in one of Malakar's shirts. His scent comforts me in a way that nothing else can. It calms me. Grounds me. The door opens quietly, then the sound of heavy footsteps before Malakar collapses next to me with a low, tired groan. I turn my head toward him, studying his face. There are dark circles under his eyes, and the ever-present tension in his strong jaw seems tighter than ever. He looks worn down to the bone.
"You okay?" I ask, brushing my fingers over the back of his head.
He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he stares up at the ceiling, exhalin
