Owen
I discard the piece of my shirt that I had wrapped around Amelia’s hand, examining the wound further. I reach for the salve to stave off infection, but I hesitate. Since I couldn’t see exactly what it was that cut her, I don’t know what might have mixed in with her blood.
“I think we better wash this first,” I say, looking up just as Amelia swallows nervously. “I’m sorry,” I tack on, knowing the soap and water will sting.
She pastes on a smile. “It’s okay. It’s not like you’re the one who cut me.”
We stand, making our way toward her bathing room together. Amelia eyes me as we cross the room. “I can clean it myself.”
It’s less of a request and more of an offer. Giving me a way out should I want one.
I don’t slow my steps across her room. “Allow me,” I say as we cross the thres
