Salome’s POV
“You don’t have to stay here, Barnabas.”
I didn’t look at him when I said it. My voice sounded thin and papery, like something that might tear if I pushed it too hard. I kept my eyes fixed on the IV bag hanging beside my bed. Each plastic drip felt like a ticking clock, marking seconds I didn’t want to spend in this room. Across the hall, Jeremiah was in his own ward, and Clementine was finally asleep on a plastic bench outside. It was just us.
Barnabas didn’t move. He was sitting on the very edge of the mattress, his weight tilting the bed just enough that I could feel the heat of him. A few months ago, I would have leaned into that warmth. Now, it just felt like a physical weight I wasn't strong enough to carry.
“I want to stay,” he said. His voice was thick and gravelly
