Roisin
Olivine’s words hung in the air, leaving me stunned and flushed furiously. My mind scrambled to string together a coherent sentence, but the way he looked at me, the intensity in his eyes, it was as if all rational thought had evaporated. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and he pulled away, standing up with a grace that seemed effortless despite the severity of his injuries. The loss of his warmth made the air around me feel colder, emptier.
“Olivine,” I finally managed, snapping out of my daze. “You need to be careful. Your wounds are still fresh. If you put too much pressure on them, they’ll bleed.”
He gave me a reassuring smile, brushing off my concern with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry about me,
